The Amber Keeper Read online

  Even so, Abbie longed to challenge her father’s accusation by asking why, if it were true that she was the cause of her mother’s alleged broken heart, it had taken Kate seven years for her to act upon it. Yet how could she do that when he was so desperately upset and grieving?

  ‘When is the funeral?’ she asked instead, tactfully changing the subject.

  ‘Tomorrow. I was beginning to think you’d miss it. Robert and Fay will be here first thing with the children, although of course the little ones will not attend. You’d never believe how Carrie has grown, no longer a baby but a lively toddler of eighteen months, and young Jonathon starts school soon.’

  Abbie quickly bent her head to rummage in her tote-bag for a hanky, unwilling for her father to witness the pain she felt at hearing the pride in his voice, and the way he smiled as he mentioned his grandchildren. It was an emotion he’d never expressed over her own daughter, and there’d been no smile for her lovely Aimée.

  Their own relationship had been warm and loving once, full of jokes and camaraderie, even if he’d often expressed a resigned despair at her determination to speak her own mind and do her own thing. Everything had been fine between them until that final split with her mother.

  Of course, there’d been much more to that than a disagreement over a boyfriend. The fact that Kate wouldn’t consider taking her into the business, holding up Robert as a prime example of success as if Abbie weren’t capable of such a thing, had hurt badly. Why hadn’t her mother trusted and respected her enough to want to work with her? Nothing Abbie did, no matter how hard she tried, would make Kate change her mind. Then to also lose the respect and consideration of her father had been a pain too great to bear.

  Now she dreaded the reunion with her brother. How he’d preened himself, making out he was the favourite, and the clever one as well, as he always came top of the class. Meeting his wife for the first time when Abbie hadn’t even been invited to their wedding, or been told about his children, was going to be difficult. Worse, Abbie would have to look Robert in the face knowing that all her family’s dire predictions had been proved correct. She had indeed made a complete mess of her life. Not that any of this should matter now, as there were more important things to worry about, and other people grieving besides herself. Yet somehow it did.

  Dabbing at her tears, she tucked the hanky away again. ‘How’s Gran?’ Kate’s relationship with her adoptive mother hadn’t always been close. At seventy-one Millie was still a feisty, lively lady who believed in living life to the full. Losing her only daughter, however, could easily destroy that wonderful spirit in her.

  ‘As well as one might expect,’ Tom said, with a resigned sigh. ‘You’ll see her tomorrow.’

  Abbie could hardly wait, for in the circumstances her homecoming was going to be far more problematic than her worst fears.

  TWO

  Clouds hung heavy over the crags and fells as rain drizzled down on a miserably cold March day, as it generally does at funerals. It had taken over two weeks to reach this stage, with a post-mortem and inquest to be dealt with before the coroner was able to release the body for burial. Now Abbie stood holding her grandmother’s arm at the graveside, marvelling at how composed she was, but then she’d always been a strong woman, a no-nonsense sort of person who never made a fuss. What she must be suffering inside was no doubt a different story.

  The vicar gave a long address about how much Kate Myers had generously contributed to the church and community in her role as secretary of the Mothers’ Union and Treasurer of the Women’s Institute, and by serving on the committee of the local Dr. Barnardo’s Home.

  Abbie knew nothing of this part of her mother’s life, and despite herself was deeply impressed. It was astonishing that Kate could manage to be so involved in such matters on top of running the family hand-made jewellery business. How sad, though, that it should take her death to reveal this charitable side of her nature.

  Yet if she’d cared for children so much, why had she never shown any interest in meeting her own granddaughter?

  The presence of the children in fact brought a welcome blast of fresh air and gentle laughter into the sombre household as people gathered for the usual wake. Ignorant of the circumstances that had brought the family together, young Jonathon chattered away twenty to the dozen, telling anyone prepared to listen how excited he was to be starting school after Easter. Eighteen-month-old Carrie didn’t sit still for a second, happily poking into corners, emptying ladies’ handbags and pulling open every drawer and cupboard door she could get her small chubby fists on. When her mother took her upstairs to put her down for her afternoon nap, she happily scattered Johnson’s baby powder all over the bathroom floor. Abbie laughingly cleaned it up while Fay attempted to put a nappy on the toddler, now indulging in a screaming tantrum.

  ‘Oh, she’s coming up to the terrible twos. I remember it well. Aimée was just the same. Fortunately at six she’s now an absolute treasure.’

  Skilfully folding and pinning the terry-towel nappy in place, Fay said, ‘But something of an embarrassment still, I should imagine.’

  ‘Why would she be? She’s the joy of my life.’

  ‘I mean since your daughter is ‒ well ‒ what she is . . .’

  Abbie instantly sobered. ‘You mean illegitimate?’

  Robert chose that moment to appear at the bedroom door. ‘Don’t attempt to deny it. I see no wedding ring in evidence. Admit it, Abbie, you’ve screwed up big time, and Ma has paid the price.’

  His words stunned her into silence for a whole half minute. Abbie had been mildly startled by the sight of her brother after all this time, looking much older than his twenty-eight years. There was already the odd fleck of grey in his brown hair, and he’d developed quite a paunch and signs of a double chin. Clearly, all those smart lunches he must attend as a successful accountant were beginning to have an effect. But his sense of self-importance was as evident as ever.

  Fay hastily pulled a pair of frilly plastic panties over the nappy, then shooed brother and sister out of the room so that she could settle Carrie for her nap. Robert and Abbie stood facing each other out on the landing with expressions as dark as thunder.

  ‘So you start on me the minute I arrive. Nice to see you too. Thanks for that, brother dear. Bit unfair, don’t you think, to blame me when I’ve been living away from home for seven years!’

  ‘You can’t deny you were responsible for her unhappiness.’

  ‘Oh, change the record, please,’ Abbie responded, keeping her voice low so as not to disturb little Carrie, or reveal how upset she was. ‘Why would Mum suddenly decide now that she can no longer live with the shame of my scandalous teenage behaviour, after all this time?’

  ‘Mother had become increasingly depressed recently, dwelling on the past a great deal. A visit from you might have cheered her. Even the odd letter would have helped.’

  ‘Shows how much you know! I did write, loads in the beginning, but as my letters were generally ignored I gave up in the end. Mum had my address, yet I can’t recall her ever using it.’ Tears were choking her throat, which Abbie desperately strived to hold in check, not wishing her brother to see how badly his words had affected her.

  Robert moved a step closer, dark eyes narrowed, mouth tight with anger as he hovered almost threateningly over her. ‘Your trouble is that you never accept responsibility for anything. You’re far too wrapped up in your own wishes and desires to consider the effect your decisions might have upon anyone else.’

  A flush of crimson crept up Abbie’s cheeks, although out of fury rather than guilt. ‘That is not true! You know I tried my hardest to please Mum. She simply wasn’t interested to hear what I wanted from life, wouldn’t even let me help in the business, although I wanted to for years. But no, my working in a shop wasn’t good enough for her. I had to go to university, then presumably marry a rich company accountant and become an obedien
t middle-class wife with two-point-four children.’

  ‘Instead you ran off with that piece of garbage and managed to break Mother’s heart by having a bastard child. No wonder she rejected you.’

  Abbie very much doubted he felt the stinging slap she gave to his arrogant fat face, but it certainly made her feel better.

  Later that afternoon, seeing that the strain of the day was beginning to take its toll, Abbie walked her grandmother home to the lodge house which stood at the entrance to Carreck Place.

  ‘Would you like me to stay for a while?’ she asked, putting on the kettle for a cup of tea, as if they hadn’t drunk enough already on this endlessly sad day.

  ‘That would be lovely, but then I need a little time alone, if you don’t mind.’

  Abbie kissed her papery cheek. ‘Don’t blame yourself, Gran. My mother was never an easy woman.’

  ‘I know that only too well,’ she said, sinking into her chair with a heavy sigh. ‘Nor must you blame yourself either, my darling.’

  ‘Easier said than done, since everyone else seems to.’ The kettle boiled, which allowed Abbie to turn away and fuss over brewing the tea and place Gran’s favourite porcelain tea cups on to a silver tray. She had ever been a lady of high standards. ‘I know Mum didn’t have an easy start in life, being adopted and all that, but it hurts that she rejected Aimée so completely. Why was that?’

  Millie Nabokov gave a sad little smile as she accepted the cup of tea Abbie offered her. ‘Once Kate had taken a stance she always found it hard to retract. Strangely, she very nearly made the same mistake herself.’

  ‘Really? I never knew that.’ Abbie sat down opposite her grandmother, eager to know more.

  ‘Except in her case it was all about rushing into a hasty marriage. It must have been about 1934. I well remember the scent of wild garlic and bluebells in the air as we sat together on an old bench beneath the copse of silver birch down by the lake, a shaft of spring sunshine warming my face. Kate was asking about my time in Russia when she suddenly announced, with great excitement in her voice, that Eric had asked her to marry him and that she’d said yes. She thought it so romantic that he’d gone down on one knee to propose. She was seventeen at the time. I, of course, was quite shocked, and not at all in favour.’

  ‘Oh dear. That wouldn’t go down well.’

  ‘No, sadly it didn’t. Eric was a fine young man, but I told her friendship is one thing, marriage quite another matter entirely. I considered her far too young to even understand the meaning of love, let alone contemplate such a commitment.’

  Abbie gave a wry smile. ‘Yet you never judged me when I ran off at almost the same age, already pregnant with Aimée, nor in any of your lovely letters since.’

  ‘I know, my darling, but it’s a different world now.’ The old lady’s brow puckered slightly. ‘Although I have wondered about the tone of your recent letters. You are happy, aren’t you?’ she gently asked, taking a sip of tea.

  Abbie took a steadying breath then gave a sad shake of her head. ‘I’m afraid not.’ She’d tried so hard not to worry her grandmother with the truth, putting on a brave face, but now seemed a good time to admit to it at last, Millie being the one person in the world right now she felt comfortable with. ‘A while ago I discovered that Eduard had lied to me, that he never had divorced his wife. I kept on hoping he’d get round to it because I still loved him, and for Aimée’s sake. Then, when I found out that his wife was pregnant again, I finally had the sense to kick him out.’

  ‘Oh my darling, I’m so sorry. We all make mistakes, but it’s how we deal with the consequences that show our true worth, and you are young enough to start again.’

  How pragmatic and sensible her grandmother was, but then Abbie had always felt able to talk to her. They, at least, had regularly kept in touch, and she was deeply grateful for her support over the years. Her grandmother continued with her tale, as if set on blaming herself for her daughter’s death.

  ‘Unfortunately, Kate found it difficult to forgive me for my lack of approval, and I’m afraid a distance grew between us which lingered for some time. She was stubborn in that respect, something with which you are all too familiar, Abbie. She said it was as if all the security she’d taken for granted had slipped from her grasp. Which was a great sadness to me, as it had been hard won. Yet I, too, remember being rather foolish at that age,’ she conceded with a smile. ‘Very much a young woman with a mind of my own. My rash decisions led me into a world quite beyond my comprehension.’

  ‘To Russia, in fact,’ Abbie put in. ‘I always think it’s so cool that you lived there, even if you’ve never talked much about it. I’d love to hear more about your life at that time, Gran. The revolution must have been utterly terrifying. How on earth did you cope?’

  A sadness once again clouded her grandmother’s eyes, and Abbie instantly regretted her request. She was on her feet in a second. ‘But that’s definitely a conversation for another time, not today. I shall leave you in peace for now. Is there anything you’d like me to do for you before I go?

  Assured that there wasn’t, Abbie quietly took her leave, promising to call again the next day.

  After her granddaughter had gone, Millie sat for some time swamped by grief, her mind slipping back to that far distant time in 1934, the day Kate had started asking difficult questions about her time in Russia. Their relationship had gone so terribly wrong after that, despite all her efforts to protect her beloved daughter and give her the love she deserved. Now Kate was dead. Was there something more she could have done to save her? Had she failed her in some way? The image of Kate as a young child was almost too painful to bear, the loss Millie felt far beyond tears.

  But she must stay strong, as an unexpected death could tear a family apart. Tom was eaten up by anger, Robert in his usual fret about practicalities, and poor Abbie blaming herself. Perhaps the moment had come to speak of the past, and reveal all.

  THREE

  It was the following morning, the breakfast dishes not yet cleared, when her father asked Abbie how long she was planning to stay. Aware of her daughter seated beside her with all the alert curiosity of her six years, instead of answering him Abbie turned to Aimée with a smile. ‘Why don’t you go and explore the garden, sweetie? You’ll find a swing in the orchard, if it’s still there. You’ll enjoy that, but stay close to the house. No going near the lake.’

  ‘Ooh, yes, Mummy, can I?

  ‘Why don’t you go too?’ Robert said, addressing his son.

  Brother and sister exchanged a quick glance, as if both remembering a time when they too had happily played together. Could they ever achieve such a relaxed state again? Abbie wondered.

  It took mere seconds for the sound of scampering feet to disappear, followed by the slam of the front door, leaving eighteen-month-old Carrie screaming her frustration that she couldn’t go with them. Fay lifted the baby out of the high chair. ‘I’ll take her for a walk in her pushchair, while you talk.’

  Robert nodded, and as Mrs Brixton appeared at the dining room door to clear away breakfast, it was agreed to adjourn to the library. Saying nothing, Abbie quietly followed them, watching with a flicker of curiosity as her father went straight to his desk, quickly gathered up some documents and tucked them away in a drawer. When he finally turned his enquiring gaze upon her, she asked the one question that had been turning over in her head ever since she arrived.

  ‘So what’s going to happen to the business? I’ve no wish to upset you, Dad, but I was wondering who was going to run it now that Mum is no longer . . .’

  He glared at her sternly from behind his spectacles, as if the very mention of his late wife’s death was anathema to him. But then he seemed to push back his shoulders and steady himself. ‘I’m afraid we have some difficult decisions to make.’

  ‘Didn’t Mother leave a will?’ Robert enquired, a question that provoked yet a further glo
wer of disapproval from his father, as if this too was out of bounds.

  ‘Indeed she did, and left everything to me, naturally.’

  ‘Of course, only she did once promise there would be a small legacy for me, even if Abbie was still out of favour.’

  ‘I think you must have misunderstood her,’ their father snapped, making it very clear this was not a subject he wished to discuss.

  ‘But she was very specific about that, saying she’d never neglect me. I can’t believe Mother hasn’t kept her word.’

  Abbie gave a snort at her brother’s arrogance. ‘That’s all you care about ‒ money! Ever your obsession.’

  ‘Not at all, but I do have a family to keep.’

  ‘So do I, in case you haven’t noticed.’

  Tom Myers silenced his children’s squabbling by raising one hand, palm outwards. ‘I assure you there were no legacies of any kind, so let that be an end of the matter. The problem is that this place costs a small fortune in upkeep, and investments and savings are not what they were.’

  ‘What are you saying Dad ‒ that we’re land rich but cash poor? We surely can’t be too hard up with a house and estate of this size, plus the business, of course. Didn’t Ma leave you any money?’

  Her father’s face turned crimson with anger. ‘Have I not made myself abundantly clear? I have no wish to discuss your mother’s will.’

  ‘The subject is normally considered relevant, following a funeral,’ Robert persisted. ‘Can we see it please?’

  ‘No, you damn well can’t!’

  Their father’s reaction to this perfectly reasonable request was so strong that Abbie frowned, examining his flushed face with some concern. ‘Is there something you’re not telling us, Dad?’