Caroline, true to her word, left for Farnham the following morning. After a meeting with Gino and Emma – Gino had looked quizzically at her but said nothing – she’d briefed her front of house team about her leave of absence and then driven Solly to the cattery. In truth, she thought, the front of house and the kitchen were so used to working together that they’d manage perfectly well without her, barring any major crisis. She’d driven away from The Cider Kitchen with a heavy heart, but also hopeful that perhaps Jonathan could help her to solve the Paul Stone problem. She tried to still the voice in her head that was supplying a rather convincing counter argument that Stone would just laugh in Jonathan’s face. Part of her still hated herself for confiding in Jonathan, but she’d spent so long denying to herself what was going on, the relief at sharing the burden, trusting him, immediately made things seem better.
As she crossed from Somerset into Wiltshire and the landscape changed from green, fielded hills to the drier, chalkier vales surrounding Salisbury, she could feel herself being drawn back towards a life she no longer desired. That feeling stayed with her all the way to Surrey, and pulling out the key to the flat she’d hoped she’d never live in again, she was sorely tempted to slam the door, get back into her car and belt back to The Cider Kitchen.
But Jonathan, darling, alley cat Jonathan, had made her a promise, and she had to honour her side of the bargain. Could he keep his? She had no doubt that that he’d give it his very best shot, but this meant he was, yet again, going against his brother. If Matthew found out the truth about the missing money, would Jonathan be cast out of the Eden of Little Somerby just as she would be?
Entering the flat, she was assailed by memories. Logically, it was the worst place to return to, but with Paul Stone in Bristol, and hopefully unaware that she’d come back to Farnham, she’d be safe. Jonathan had made her promise to ring him when she arrived, but she couldn’t guarantee she could speak to him without breaking down so she sent him a text message instead. Then, after checking the place over, she made the bed with the linen she’d brought with her and considered her options. She had two weeks’ grace, and she actually did have some decorating to do as she’d moved out so quickly that she hadn’t had the chance to touch up the walls. Trying to put the restaurant out of her mind for now, she settled down to work out the best course of action.
*
Jonathan, for all his assurances to Caroline, didn’t yet have a plan for dealing with Paul Stone. Somehow he knew that just calling him up and declaring who he was wasn’t going to cut it. And if his brother got wind of what was going on there’d be hell to pay. To pre-empt any difficult questions from his brother, Jonathan had phoned Matthew shortly after he’d seen Caroline and told him he was in the process of investigating. Luckily, Matthew was so stretched on other business, he seemed willing to let Jonathan take the lead, for now at least. Then, after his meeting with the restaurant staff, assuring them that he’d be on hand to sort out any problems in Caroline’s absence, he set his mind to work.
Stone wasn’t just going to roll over and back off; Jonathan needed leverage. A morning’s digging on the internet provided some leads; Paul Stone’s picture was on the website of the events management company in Bristol and his laid back, confident smile made Jonathan’s hackles rise. So this was the bastard who’d been intimidating Caroline. Some primal urge to confront Stone and smash his front teeth in struck Jonathan powerfully, but he knew he’d have to be cleverer than that. Closing the web page, he got to thinking. He’d have to act fast if he wanted to put an end to all this. Then he had a brainwave. Punching out the number of the company, he made the call. It was almost too easy to schedule a meeting to discuss a fictional event that he wanted to hold in the grounds of the local National Trust property. Jonathan pretended that he was a rep for the Trust, looking to arrange a champagne reception for some local businesses in the grounds of the house. When he requested Stone as a liaison, lying that he’d been recommended by a friend, the receptionist readily agreed. Arranging a meeting for next Tuesday, he ended the call. Just him and Stone, on neutral ground. Given that he’d left the receptionist with a false name, with a bit of luck the bastard wouldn’t know the true purpose of the meeting until it was far too late.
That afternoon, feeling as though he’d made a start on saving Caroline’s hide and her business, Jonathan decided to leave work early. He’d been working his backside off recently. The sun was setting over the Mendip Hills as he walked the distance between the office and his father’s bungalow. Not for the first time, he thought that he really should make alternative living arrangements. He couldn’t live with his father forever.
Orchard Cottage was in darkness as Jonathan walked up the drive, but since Jack’s sitting room was at the back of the bungalow, Jonathan assumed he hadn’t bothered turning on any other lights. Fumbling to fit his key into the lock, he pushed open the front door and then closed it carefully behind him so as not to startle Jack, whose heart probably couldn’t take too many shocks these days. Crossing the hall carefully, he pushed open the door to the living room. His father’s chair faced away from the door and Jonathan could see the top of Jack’s head above the back of the chair as he entered the room.
‘Dad?’ he said softly. ‘Are you awake?’
Jack made no response. In fact, the silence was almost deafening. Jonathan realised, a beat too late, that he couldn’t even hear his father breathing, let alone snoring.
‘Dad?’ Jonathan crossed the room. ‘I’m home. Do you want me to get you anything?’
There was still no response from Jack. Nearly tripping over the fringed edge of the rug, as not even Jack’s side table light was on, Jonathan stumbled towards the old man in the chair. As he righted himself, he noticed that Jack was holding the Buckthorn contract in his hands.
Jonathan’s voice, higher pitched with worry now, sounded childish in the darkness. ‘Dad? Can you hear me?’ He leaned over and touched his dad’s shoulder, but still nothing. The panic ratcheted up another notch as Jack remained unresponsive. ‘Dad? Dad! Wake up.’ All the things he’d ever learned about CPR and resuscitation seemed frustratingly out of reach as he frantically loosened his father’s collar. Fumbling in the pocket of his jeans for his phone, he punched out the number of the emergency services and waited to be connected.
‘Ambulance, Orchard Cottage, Little Somerby. It’s my father. He’s not… responding. Please hurry.’
Jonathan was breathless with fear and tried hard to focus on his father. He lifted Jack’s left wrist to feel for a pulse, and, to his horror, as skin made contact with skin, ice dripped down his spine. ‘Oh Christ,’ he whispered. The pulse point on Jack’s wrist was still. Frantically, Jonathan felt for the reassuring beat in Jack’s neck but found nothing. Jack’s head was tilted to one side, his eyes half open as if he was drifting off to sleep, but as Jonathan leaned in, desperate to feel a breath, he knew Jack was far beyond that. His heart lurched; why had he pushed him so hard about Buckthorn? Why had he not checked more carefully that his father was taking his medication?
‘Dad?’ he said softly. But he knew it was hopeless; Jack was beyond hearing. Placing his lips to the old man’s forehead, he breathed in the remnants of his father’s cologne and drew a deep, shuddering breath. Then, with a presence of mind that surprised him, he pulled his phone out of his pocket.
‘Matthew? It’s me.’ Jonathan paused, knowing that what he said next would change his brother’s life forever, just as finding Jack had changed his. He drew a deep breath, which caught agonisingly in his throat. ‘It’s Dad. He’s dead.’
A short time later, the emergency services arrived at Orchard Cottage. Matthew and Jonathan stood silently as Jack’s GP, who had been called by the paramedics, confirmed that Jack had passed away and then made the arrangements to move the body. It was all remarkably calm and swift. As they left, taking Jack with them in a private ambulance to the local mortuary, Matthew turned to his brother.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked, seeing Jonathan’s pallor, and the fact that as Jack’s body had been moved out on the gurney, his brother had started to shake.
Jonathan shook his head. ‘I can’t believe it.’ He ran a hand over his eyes, trying to keep it together. ‘I should never have…’
‘What?’ Matthew put a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder.
‘The Buckthorn deal. I shouldn’t have pushed him on it. We had words this morning. And last night. Christ…’ Jonathan trailed off, clenching his jaw in an attempt not to break down.
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Matthew said. ‘You said he’d not been taking his tablets properly. This could have happened at any time.’
‘I should’ve made sure he was taking them. I was here every morning.’ Jonathan turned away from his brother and walked to the window. ‘If only I’d…’
Matthew joined his brother at the window, looking out onto Jack’s immaculately tended garden. ‘It wasn’t your fault, Jonno. We both know how stubborn Dad is. Was.’ He swallowed. ‘Look, don’t stay here on your own. Come back to Cowslip Barn tonight.’
Jonathan shook his head. ‘No. I’ll be fine. Honestly. I need some time to get my head around this. And Dad wouldn’t want… wouldn’t want this place empty.’
‘Are you sure? Anna always cooks for an army and I don’t like the thought of you being here on your own.’ He put a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder.
‘I’ll come over tomorrow,’ Jonathan said. ‘Tonight I just want to get my head together before I see the girls.’
Matthew regarded his brother long and hard and then leaned forward and hugged him briefly. ‘All right,’ he said roughly. ‘But you know where I am. We’ll get together tomorrow to sort out the arrangements.’
Jonathan nodded. When Matthew finally left, and with remarkable presence of mind, he poured himself a stiff scotch from Jack’s decanter. It was only when he caught sight of Jack’s glass on the sideboard, never to be drunk from again, that he started to cry.