and be good for your father. You can come and visit me in the holidays. ’
‘
I promise, mother.
’
It had been a rainy April day, the park opposite scattered with daffodils. A man had stepped from the cab and kissed her red mouth. Nick had cleared a space in the misted window and watched as her cabin trunks were loaded into the cab. Then she’d turned to look up at the window and her mouth had wrinkled and puckered, as though she’d grown old before his eyes. She’d blown him a kiss.
He’d realized then that she was leaving for good, and turned his back on her. At that moment he’d never wanted to see her again.
He closed his eyes as the memory began to fade. She’d been wearing a diamond ring, and for a moment the sun had emerged from behind a cloud and it had gleamed with cold fire.
Three months later his father had taken time out from his busy schedule to travel to the school. He’d cleared his throat and said, ‘There was an accident dear boy . . . the car your mother was in. It went off the road into a ravine. They had been drinking. Perhaps it’s just as well . . . the scandal, you know.’
He’d been in the middle of exams, and was angry with her for dying before she’d proved she loved him by coming back. ‘You could have telephoned,’ was all he found to say.
His father had a woman with him, small, with bright hair, pert breasts, and the same red mouth as his mother. She was about eight years older than Nick.
‘This is Jane. We’re going to be married when you come home for the hols.’
Jane took it on herself to teach Nick the facts of life during the first week of his holiday. She learned that blood was thicker than water when word just happened to reach his father’s ear via an anonymous letter.
Opening his eyes, Nick gently smiled. Ah yes the scandal . . . something not to be tolerated at all. It was all done quite gentlemanly . . . a birching from his father followed by a quick trip to a professional lady with many tricks, and honour was satisfied. The woman and her belongings disappeared overnight, never to be mentioned again. He wondered what had happened to her.
‘I’ll have a quick look at the burglar after breakfast so I can keep an eye out for the cad. People are silly leaving their valuables where they can easily be found.’
‘Quite . . . I hope you’re free the day after tomorrow, Nick?’
‘I’ve joined the martial arts class at my club.’
His father’s head popped up again. ‘I’ve heard of it but never known exactly what type of art it is.’
Nick tried not to grin. ‘It’s actually the art of self-defence. It’s a method of defending yourself by disabling your opponent with a series of kicks, holds and throws if you’re attacked.’
His father gave a huff of laughter. ‘Yes, of course it is. I was making a joke. Martial arts . . .?’ He laughed and slowly shook his head to cover his embarrassment. ‘A good one, what? It certainly had you fooled. Personally I’ve always thought a good jab to the stomach with my stick does the trick just as well. It disables the buggers by robbing them of breath, you know. Not that I’ve ever had to use it.’
Nick did know.
Folding the newspaper his father threw it on the table and pushed back his chair. ‘Right, I’m off then, I’ve got an appointment with my tailor before my meeting with the bank’s board of directors. In case we don’t see each other for a day or two don’t forget your luncheon engagement, Nicholas. I’m very keen that you should get this position . . . especially when I went to so much trouble to set it up. Apparently, Colin Foggerty’s son is after it. Wasn’t he at school with you?’
Michael Foggerty was short and plump. He was friendly, but had a rather ingratiating manner. ‘Foggerty comes from Irish stock. Doesn’t his family still have property there?’
His father chuckled. ‘So he does, Nicholas. How sharp of you to remember. Be sure to work that into the conversation
‘
I promise, mother.
’
It had been a rainy April day, the park opposite scattered with daffodils. A man had stepped from the cab and kissed her red mouth. Nick had cleared a space in the misted window and watched as her cabin trunks were loaded into the cab. Then she’d turned to look up at the window and her mouth had wrinkled and puckered, as though she’d grown old before his eyes. She’d blown him a kiss.
He’d realized then that she was leaving for good, and turned his back on her. At that moment he’d never wanted to see her again.
He closed his eyes as the memory began to fade. She’d been wearing a diamond ring, and for a moment the sun had emerged from behind a cloud and it had gleamed with cold fire.
Three months later his father had taken time out from his busy schedule to travel to the school. He’d cleared his throat and said, ‘There was an accident dear boy . . . the car your mother was in. It went off the road into a ravine. They had been drinking. Perhaps it’s just as well . . . the scandal, you know.’
He’d been in the middle of exams, and was angry with her for dying before she’d proved she loved him by coming back. ‘You could have telephoned,’ was all he found to say.
His father had a woman with him, small, with bright hair, pert breasts, and the same red mouth as his mother. She was about eight years older than Nick.
‘This is Jane. We’re going to be married when you come home for the hols.’
Jane took it on herself to teach Nick the facts of life during the first week of his holiday. She learned that blood was thicker than water when word just happened to reach his father’s ear via an anonymous letter.
Opening his eyes, Nick gently smiled. Ah yes the scandal . . . something not to be tolerated at all. It was all done quite gentlemanly . . . a birching from his father followed by a quick trip to a professional lady with many tricks, and honour was satisfied. The woman and her belongings disappeared overnight, never to be mentioned again. He wondered what had happened to her.
‘I’ll have a quick look at the burglar after breakfast so I can keep an eye out for the cad. People are silly leaving their valuables where they can easily be found.’
‘Quite . . . I hope you’re free the day after tomorrow, Nick?’
‘I’ve joined the martial arts class at my club.’
His father’s head popped up again. ‘I’ve heard of it but never known exactly what type of art it is.’
Nick tried not to grin. ‘It’s actually the art of self-defence. It’s a method of defending yourself by disabling your opponent with a series of kicks, holds and throws if you’re attacked.’
His father gave a huff of laughter. ‘Yes, of course it is. I was making a joke. Martial arts . . .?’ He laughed and slowly shook his head to cover his embarrassment. ‘A good one, what? It certainly had you fooled. Personally I’ve always thought a good jab to the stomach with my stick does the trick just as well. It disables the buggers by robbing them of breath, you know. Not that I’ve ever had to use it.’
Nick did know.
Folding the newspaper his father threw it on the table and pushed back his chair. ‘Right, I’m off then, I’ve got an appointment with my tailor before my meeting with the bank’s board of directors. In case we don’t see each other for a day or two don’t forget your luncheon engagement, Nicholas. I’m very keen that you should get this position . . . especially when I went to so much trouble to set it up. Apparently, Colin Foggerty’s son is after it. Wasn’t he at school with you?’
Michael Foggerty was short and plump. He was friendly, but had a rather ingratiating manner. ‘Foggerty comes from Irish stock. Doesn’t his family still have property there?’
His father chuckled. ‘So he does, Nicholas. How sharp of you to remember. Be sure to work that into the conversation
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