Lesson To Learn

‘Surely no court would do that without good reason?’ Sarah pointed out, frowning.

‘Well, you’d think not, but get yourself a good enough lawyer and who knows? And apparently she, the mother, was pretty good at putting on a performance when she deemed it necessary, whereas Gray, from what I know and have heard of him, isn’t the type to actively sue for people’s sympathy and compassion.’

‘No, he isn’t,’ Sarah agreed feelingly, remembering how much Robert’s father had antagonised her with his curt dismissal of her and his manner towards his son.

Ross shot her a very thoughtful look.

‘All the same, he’s very well thought of locally, and he’s done quite a lot for the community.’

‘Pity he hasn’t done something for his son,’ Sarah said grimly. ‘If you could have seen him…He was so upset…so…so unhappy.’

Ross frowned. ‘You’re not trying to suggest that Philips is actually harming the boy in some way, are you?’

Immediately Sarah shook her head.

‘No…at least not in any physical sense, and not deliberately, but emotionally…There doesn’t seem to be any kind of bond between them at all. I suspect he…Gray Philips looks on his son as just another responsibility, a burden he’s had to assume. He seemed more concerned about a meeting he was supposed to attend than Robert…and, of course, to Robert he’s a stranger. If there hasn’t been any contact between them since Robert’s birth…’

‘And if, as you seemed to think was the case, his mother talked to him about Gray as though he was some kind of monster, he’s bound to be afraid, isn’t he?’ Sally put in.

‘Not an easy situation for any man to deal with, but in Gray Philips’s present position it must be doubly difficult,’ Ross commented, explaining, ‘There’s been some talk of a large multi-national wanting to take over the company. Gray is the major shareholder, but there are other family members holding shares, who, it seems, are in favour of the take-over because it will give them instant cash. Gray, on the other hand, quite naturally wants to retain ownership of the business, so there’s an awful lot of behind-the-scenes negotiating going on. I suspect that ultimately he’ll have to buy out the other shareholders; that will mean raising one hell of a lot of money. No, I shouldn’t want to be in his shoes right now,’Ross concluded.

THAT NIGHT in bed, for the first time since her historic and depressing interview with her superiors, Sarah found that it wasn’t their criticisms of her that were going round and round in her brain as she tried to go to sleep, but that instead she was reliving her run-in with Gray Philips.

Strange how powerful the human mind was. Without even the slightest conscious effort of will she could mentally visualise him in such clear and sharp detail that she could see the changing expressions cross his face; could hear the strong male sound of his voice; could picture each gesture, each movement he had made, almost as though the man himself were there with her.

She turned over in bed, fiercely closing her eyes, trying to block him out of her mind. It didn’t matter what Ross had said to her; she still felt that Gray Philips could have done more, ought to have done more to help his son. That poor little boy, to be so cruelly robbed of those he loved…to be removed from a familiar and loved environment to one that to him must appear totally hostile and unfriendly. To be forced to live with a father who all his young life he had been told was someone who did not love him.

‘I hate you,’ Robert had said to his father with all the vehemence of a frightened child, and just for a moment Sarah had thought she had seen some flicker of emotion burn in those so cold ice-blue eyes. But what that emotion might have been she did not know. Anger and impatience most probably…certainly he had not displayed any other kind of emotion…any kind of warmth or love.

Perhaps in one way it had been wrong of her to promise to visit Robert without first obtaining his father’s permission…perhaps she had done so deliberately because she had known that that permission would have been withheld, but how could she have lived with herself if she had deliberately and uncaringly turned her back on the little boy, shrugging her shoulders and telling herself that he was not her concern? No, she could not have done that. It ran completely counter to her whole nature. Tiredly she allowed herself to drift towards sleep.

‘LOOK, WHY DON’T you take my car? I shan’t be using it today, so you might as well.’

They were sitting having coffee in the kitchen, and Sally’s offer of the use of her car made Sarah say gratefully, ‘Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind, although I’m not sure how to find the house. The path went to a back gate and…’

‘I’ve got a map of the village. The house isn’t difficult to find. I’ll get the map and show you…

‘It was Gray Philips’s grandfather who originally bought it,’ Sally explained when she returned with the map, which she spread out on the kitchen table, pinning it down with her half-full mug of coffee.

‘Gray’s father was the older brother and should have inherited both it and the business, but he was in the army. He was killed in action when Gray was quite small. At least, that’s what Mrs Richards told me. His mother apparently remarried and went to live in America, leaving Gray here. He was brought up by his grandfather, his uncle never married, and—again according to Mrs Richards—Gray was sent to boarding-school and then on to university, so that he virtually only spent his holidays here when he was growing up.’

Sarah was frowning as she listened to her cousin. Against her will she felt an aching tenderness, an awareness of how very lonely Gray Philips’s childhood must have been, but surely that loneliness should have made him more compassionate towards his own child and not less? Then again, she knew enough about psychology to know that an adult would often inflict on his or her own children the same miseries they themselves had suffered, sometimes deliberately, but more often than not quite subconsciously, unaware that, out of their own deeply buried pain and resentment, they were unable to let go of the past and their subconscious resentment of another child, their child, enjoying a happier childhood than they had known.

Most people when confronted with such a truth were both appalled and angry, repudiating it immediately, even when it was explained to them that they were not consciously aware of what they were doing.

Was Gray Philips like that? Did he subconsciously resent his son’s happiness?

She was leaping to unfounded conclusions, Sarah warned herself as she forced herself to concentrate on studying the map…allowing her emotions to take control of her. What Robert needed right now was not someone to reinforce his lack of trust and love for his father, but someone to gently encourage him to form a bond with Gray.

That task was not hers, she warned herself half an hour later as she got into Sally’s car. All she could do was to try to comfort Robert as best she could and to gently point out to him the dangers of trying to run away. It was a pity that Gray Philips had not taken the trouble to find someone more sympathetic and understanding than Mrs Jacobs to take charge of his son, since he plainly was not prepared to give Robert the emotional comfort and support he needed himself.

She found the entrance to the house easily enough. Automatic gates swung open as she drove towards them, admitting her to the gravel-covered drive.

The front view of the house betrayed that it was even larger than she had first imagined and built in the traditional Elizabethan E-shape. The drive swept round not to the front of the house, but through a brick archway and into what had once been the stable-yard. Parking her car here, Sarah climbed out.

Was it her imagination or did the sound of her shoes crunching over the gravel seem preternaturally loud?

She walked round to the front of the house, pausing to admire the double row of clipped yews that framed the main path as she did so. Beyond them in the distance she could see the shape of a formal pond and the spray of a fountain. Reflecting that it must cost a fortune to keep the house and garden in order, she mounted the steps and pulled the bell chain.

For a long time nothing happened, and she was just about to wonder angrily if Gray Philips had given Mrs Jacobs instructions not to admit her, when the door suddenly opened to the extent of its safety chain and a small, familiar voice asked uncertainly, ‘Is that you, Sarah?’

‘Robert…Where’s Mrs Jacobs?’ she asked the little boy as he reached up to release the safety chain.

‘She’s gone home,’ Robert told her when the door was open and Sarah went inside. ‘She said she wasn’t paid to look after the likes of me and that I was getting on her nerves,’ he added woefully.

The hall was low-ceilinged and beamed, with a polished wooden floor and an enormous cavern of a fireplace. It was immaculately clean and yet somehow unwelcoming.

The oak coffer against the wall cried out for a pewter jug full of flowers, the floor for a richly coloured rug, and stairs with barley-sugar twisted and carved posts and heavily worn oak treads led to the upper storeys of the house. A window set halfway up them in their curve let in a mellow shaft of sunlight, and, even while she admired the heavy wrought-iron light fitting that hung from the ceiling, Sarah was wondering why no one seemed to have thought to fit the window-seat with a comfortable squashy cushion, and thinking how bleak the house looked despite its shining cleanness.

‘Are you here all on your own?’ she asked Robert as he took hold of her hand and started to tug her in the direction of one of the doors leading off the hallway.

‘Yes. My father’s gone to work.’

‘And Mrs Jacobs has left. Is she coming back?’

‘No.’ Robert shook his head. ‘She said she wasn’t going to set foot in this place again. At least not while I was here. Children are a nuisance, she said, and there are plenty of places she can work where she doesn’t have to put up with them.’ Tears suddenly brimmed in his eyes as he turned to look at her. ‘My father is going to be cross with me, isn’t he? But it wasn’t my fault that I spilt the milk. I slipped on the kitchen floor.’

Sarah felt a mingling of anger and disgust. How could any father leave his child in the sole charge of a woman as plainly unsuitable as Mrs Jacobs, and how could any woman walk out on a six-year-old child when she knew there was no one to take charge of him, and when she must also know how vulnerable he was?

Robert pushed open a door which Sarah saw led into the kitchen. Her frown deepened when she saw the pool of milk marking the stone floor, its surface ominously broken by shards of glass. Had Mrs Jacobs really left without cleaning up the broken glass? It seemed that she had.

Quietly telling Robert not to go near the broken glass, Sarah set about cleaning up the mess.

While she was doing so he started to explain tearfully to her how the milk had been spilt when he was pouring it into his breakfast bowl of cereal.

The fridge from which he had taken the milk had a freezer section beneath it, and a handle surely far too high for the easy reach of a child of six.

When she heard how he had dragged a stool across the floor and climbed up on it to open the door, apparently while Mrs Jacobs was sitting down drinking a cup of tea, she was so angry both with Mrs Jacobs and with Robert’s father that she felt it was just as well that neither of them was there for her to vent her anger on them.

Surely the older woman must have realised the potential danger of a child of Robert’s age climbing on a stool to open a fridge door? And surely in any case the little boy should not have been left to get his own breakfast?

Not wanting to pry and take advantage of his innocence, Sarah nevertheless had to ask him why Mrs Jacobs had not poured out the milk for him.

‘She said it wasn’t her job to feed me,’ he told Sarah. ‘And, besides, she was very cross. She said I didn’t deserve any breakfast after what I’d done yesterday. She said I ought to be whipped and locked in my room.’ His face grew shadowed and fearful. ‘You won’t…you won’t tell my father about the milk, will you, Sarah?’

‘Not if you don’t want me to,’Sarah assured him, mentally crossing her fingers. She had every intention of making sure that Gray Philips knew exactly what she thought of a man who left his child in the sole charge of a woman like Mrs Jacobs.

It was almost lunchtime, and when she discovered that because of the accident Robert had not had any breakfast she opened the fridge and stared in disgust at its meagre contents. The freezer section below it was packed with microwave dishes and TV dinners, but there was nothing, as far as she could see, nutritious enough for a growing child…no fresh fruit, no fresh vegetables, nothing in the fridge that could in any way constitute the ingredients for a well-balanced healthy meal.

The bread-bin, when she found it, held half a loaf of dry, unappetising white bread, although the biscuit barrel was well stocked. Sarah turned away from this in disgust to announce firmly, ‘Robert, you and I are going to do some shopping.’

It was warm enough for Robert to go out in his shirt and shorts, but before they left Sarah found an envelope in her handbag and wrote down a brief note on it, leaving it propped up on the kitchen table in the unlikely event of Mrs Jacobs’s alerting Gray Philips to the fact that she had left Robert on his own and his coming home to ensure that he was safe.

Since she had no keys to any of the doors, she had to leave the back door unlocked, and as they drove away she prayed that no one would break into the house while she was gone.

In their nearest market town they had a good selection of food stores, so there was no need for her to drive as far as Ludlow.

After they had parked the car and collected their trolley she asked Robert what he liked to eat, and was pleased to discover from his answers to her questions that his mother had obviously been very strict about a healthy diet.

However, when she made some comment about his mother, he shook his head and told her, to her surprise, ‘But I didn’t live with Mummy and Tom. I lived with Nana. There wasn’t room for me at Mummy’s house, and besides…’ He scowled and dragged his toe along the floor, telling her gruffly, ‘Tom didn’t like me. Peter’s father liked him,’ he added wistfully, causing Sarah to cease her inspection of the shelves and pause to look at him, asking questioningly,

‘Peter?’

‘He was my friend at school,’ Robert told her. ‘He lived with his mummy and his daddy. His daddy used to play with him. He was teaching Peter to play football,’ he told her enviously.

Poor little scrap. Sarah ached to pick him up and hug him and to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, that he had just been unlucky in the adult males in his life, because she could see the fear in his eyes, the belief that it was somehow his fault that first his mother’s lover and then his own father had rejected him.

It seemed odd, though, that, after going to all the trouble of obtaining sole custody of him and refusing to allow his father to see him, his mother should then allow him to live full-time with his grandmother.

She was frowning a little over this as she scanned the shelves. She had plenty of cash with her, money she had brought with her when she had arrived from the city and which so far she had had no need to spend, thanks to the generosity of her cousin. According to Sally and Ross, Gray Philips was a wealthy man, and certainly wealthy enough to provide his son with a proper diet, so there was no need for her to scrimp on her purchases.

She could only marvel at the quality and training of a housekeeper who apparently was content to feed a grown man and a growing child on pre-cooked frozen microwave meals. There was nothing wrong with such things for emergencies or days when cooking was inconvenient or impossible, but as a sole source of food…

As she paused to ask Robert if he liked fish she tried not to contemplate how Gray Philips was likely to view her interference.

Her shopping complete, she and Robert headed back to the car. He was chattering to her about his grandmother as they did so, and Sarah could tell how much he missed her—more, it seemed, than he missed his mother, but then, if he had lived with his grandmother…It would account for that oddly old-fashioned air he had about him at times, that grave, almost too adult manner that set him apart from the other children of his age that she knew.

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