Masters & Lovers Box Set One

James

My mobile vibes in my pocket: a message coming in. I check the screen: Michael

U alone?

Puzzled....

Yes why?

Got something 2 show u. cum 2 rchrds office. Dont tell C

On my way

My stomach lurches. When I left Michael this morning, he had plans to spend a couple of hours sifting through old papers again. What the fuck has he found now?

As luck would have it, excluding Charlotte is not a problem. She's working as an assistant/extra pair of hands/student observer in the NDT laboratories at a local foundry. She'll be happily occupied and not going anywhere until Michael or I picks her up.

*****

Francis gives me the nod as I enter reception. "He said to go straight in, James."

I find Richard and Michael together in the conference room, talking quietly together.

"What's up?" I ask.

Michael gestures to two items on the table-top. "All but the last of Albert's papers. Hidden in the bottom of a box under piles of absolute rubbish and tucked inside a twenty-year-old telephone directory."

I fumble spectacles onto my nose and look closer.

A photo, burned and browned at the edges, one corner missing which cuts off the upper part of a woman's body. Only her legs and the lower part of her dress remains. The remainder of the image is visible, but badly faded and yellowed: a family photo. Beside the truncated body of the woman, an adult man with two boys and a little red-headed girl. The boys are late teens, almost young men and the little girl is being held in the arms of the man, her own arms around his neck. In the background is a table laid out with sandwiches and a cake with candles.

I flip it over, looking at the back; a neat handwritten note, easily legible despite fading and again, being partly cut off at the missing corner.

.... ephen, David, Shelley

Al and Eve.

Shelley's 5th birthday.

As I look at the other item, I draw in my breath. Also singed at the edges, but clearly readable: "This is to certify the following record of birth.... Name: Michelle Kimberley. Sex: Female. Name of Father: Albert Kimberley: Maiden Name of Mother: Eve Wright...."

Holding photo and certificate in either hand, my mind turns.

"Rescued from a fire, wouldn't you say?" says Richard.

"It certainly looks that way," I agree. "This explains the lack of photos, I suppose. If the rest were burned...."

"Except that someone retrieved just these items," finishes Michael.

"I see why you didn't want me to bring Charlotte."

"No," he says. "I think this would upset her. I thought you should see them first and we should agree on what to do before we tell her about them."

I glance up at Richard. "Does Beth know?"

"No. I've not told her. She might feel honour bound to tell Charlotte, and I agree with Michael. To see these, in the condition they are, would hurt her deeply."

"Any more where these came from?" I ask.

Michael shakes his head. "No, as I said, this is about the last of it. It's sheer luck I noticed them at all because they'd been very well hidden."

"I think we can assume that was by Albert,"

"I'd say so, yes.

I prop myself back against the table, arms folded. "So, what do we do next?"

"When Elizabeth visited Stephen and David," says Richard, "they cut her dead. Refused to admit Michelle ever even existed. They accused me of being mistaken...." He snorts." They can hardly stand by that now...." "So...."

"I think we confront them again, and this time, I don't want it to be Beth that goes. She's...."

"Too easily intimidated?"

Richard rocks his hand back and forth. "Not exactly. I was thinking that she perhaps would find it difficult confronting her older uncles, her own family, when they've already refused her several times already." "I'll go," I say.

"Um...." Richard and Michael exchange glances.

"What? What's wrong? Do you imagine they're going to intimidate me?"

"No, James," says Richard. "I don't but.... How to put this? You're a fine man and I admire you enormously. You have many skills and virtues, but let's be honest. Tact and diplomacy are not among them. I think both will be needed to handle this one." Michael's face is suspiciously straight.

"I'm not sure if I should be flattered or insulted," I mutter.

Michael slaps me on the shoulder, grinning. "You should be flattered. Come on. Let's all play to our strengths."

Resisting the urge to punch the grin from his face, "I take your point. What do you suggest?"

"If I go," says Richard, "I think they may well stonewall me the same way they did Elizabeth. To them, I'm just her husband. It's none of my business. But Michael is an unknown quantity to them. And he is Charlotte's husband; a man with a right to ask the question."

"I agree," says Michael. "I'll go."

*****

Michael

"Can you keep Charlotte occupied, so she doesn't think too hard about me not being around."

"Of course. What have you told her?"

"That I'm going to be at a trade fair for a couple of days. I made it sound as boring as possible."

"Great. I'll call you when I know something."

"See you in a couple of days."

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*****

I pull up, check the address and then park up.

I chose early evening to arrive. It seemed the best time to reliably catch whoever was at home. Sure enough, windows are lit in several parts of the house.

I check I have everything on me I intended then take a couple of deep breaths....

Here goes....

I stroll up the path, knock on the door. After a few moments, a light flicks on behind the door and it opens.

I'm looking into the face of a man about my height, although much more lightly built and perhaps in his mid-fifties.

Which one are you?

"Hello, Mr Kimberley?"

"I'm David Kimberley, yes. Is it me you want? Or my brother, Stephen?"

"Both of you actually. You don't know me. My name is Michael Summerford." I offer my hand. He looks at it doubtfully, then takes it, giving a brief shake. "What can I do for you, Mr Summerford?"

"Um.... It's a little complicated. Could I come in for a few minutes?"

He frowns, but steps back, gesturing through to another doorway. "Please, come through."

I step through to a lounge. It's a pleasant enough space, with the kind of average furnishings that suggest the owners are comfortable without being wealthy. A settee, a couple of armchairs, a coffee table and another small table that looks as though it serves for dining. The styling is a little old-fashioned; a sense of taste that got stuck somewhere in the 80s. The walls carry decorative plates, cheap prints and dotted here and there, framed displays of butterflies and beetles.

A man sits on the settee reading a newspaper. He is enough like David for it to be obvious that they are brothers. The faces have the same stamp but even seated as he is, he looks bulkier; much more heavy-set. "Stephen Kimberley, I assume?"

He raises brows then, putting the newspaper to one side, stands to take my offered hand. "That's right, Mr...?"

"Summerford. Michael Summerford."

"Take a seat. Mr Summerford. How can we help you?"

David sits beside him. Both seem relaxed but a little puzzled.

"I've come to you today to ask for your help. It's about my wife...."

Something like realisation crosses both faces. Stephen stiffens. "Your wife?"

I take the photo of Charlotte I had ready in one pocket, passing it across to them. "This is her. I thought you would like to see her."

Stephen barely glances at it, but David takes it from me, studying the image.

"And why would I be interested in your wife, Mr Summerford?" says Stephen.

"Because she's trying to find her mother; Michelle Conners when she was married. Maiden name, Michelle Kimberley."

Stephen stands up his face reddening. "Did Beth send you here?" he demands.

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"Beth is a friend of mine, yes. But no, she didn't send me."

He looms over me, I think, trying to threaten. "As I told her, and now I am telling you...." A finger stabs towards me....".... there is no Michelle Kimberley. There never was. We never had a sister."

I stand to meet him, to look him in the eye, reaching for the photo in my other pocket, a copy of the damaged original. "Really? So, who's this then?"

I hold it up, displaying it to both brothers. David reaches to take it. Stephen glowers and looks away. "I've no idea. Who is it supposed to be?"

"You haven't even looked at it."

"I don't need to look at it."

"This is a copy of what was written on the back." I offer it to Stephen. Again, he looks away.

"Where did you get these?" says David. His voice is quiet.

"Shut up, David." Stephen is almost purple now, snarling the words.

"They were among your father's effects."

"You have no right to...."

"I've been helping Beth sort through Albert's old papers. We believe that he intended Beth to find what was in there." Stephen glares at me. "And then, there's this." I offer the copy of the birth certificate. Again, David takes it, looking closely. Stephen looks away, his lips a pressed white line

"I understand that you had some sort of family crisis involving your sister, but you can't possibly continue to argue that she never existed."

Stephen turns back to me, white rims showing around his eyes. He steps close, invading my space. "It makes no difference. Those.... however you came by them, belong to a girl who vanished long ago. We don't have a sister anymore." "I'd like to show you one more thing if I may." I pull out my mobile, scrolling through until I find what I'm looking for. "I've just shown you a picture of my wife. You must see that there is a family resemblance, to Beth if nothing else.... This is Charlotte the day Beth last returned from speaking to you...." Stephen turns his back to me, arms and legs akimbo, staring out of the window. I pass the phone to David.

He looks at the image; Charlotte, white-faced, swollen-eyed with crying. "When Beth told us that you wouldn't speak to her about Michelle, Charlotte was heart-broken. That's my wife after Beth told her that you wouldn't help; wouldn't even admit her mother ever existed."

David stares at the screen.

"Are you really going to keep refusing to help a girl who only wants to find her mother?" I say. "Who had nothing to do with any of what happened in your family? Who wasn't even born for most of it and who is innocent of anything except having spent her childhood as a victim."

"A victim?" Stephen half-turns back to me. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Charlotte lost her mother, your sister. We still don't really know why or how. But do you know where she grew up? In Blessingmoors. You must have seen the stories on the TV about that hell-hole. That's where she was trapped, for years, as a child. She escaped, but if she hadn't, she was destined for the sex slave market."

Neither brother says anything....

I can't keep the contempt from my voice. "I've heard a lot from Beth about old-fashioned values in this family. It seems to me that you should take a good hard look at those values."

Stephen turns on me, bullying up close again. "Don't you speak like that about my family. My niece knows how to behave. She is a good woman and a lady."

"I'm not talking about Beth. And you suggesting that my wife is not a lady?"

"I have no opinion regarding your wife. I am not concerned with her. And certainly not with her mother."

He moves past me, opening the door and holding it open. "Thank you for coming, Mr Summerford. It's always good to meet a friend of Beth's. However, you will appreciate that David and I are both busy men. "Is that all you have to say?"

"It is. If you disturb us again, I may feel obliged to call the police."

I fish a card from my shirt pocket. "If any of you has any sudden flashes of memory, that's where you'll find me. Or you can contact me through Beth of course."

I toss the card on the coffee table, in the general direction of David, but as it hits the surface, Stephen swoops, snatching it up. "We'll not be needing it, Mr Summerford, but thank you for calling by."