A Hidden Life by Adèle Geras Read Free Book Online Page B

was driving to Brighton to meet Ellie. He’d been surprised to get a phone call from her in the office a couple of days after the funeral, asking whether she might discuss something with him. He could guess what that was, of course. Nessa had probably got to her and asked her about the will and whether there was any prospect of challenging it. It saddened him that Ellie’s daughter hadn’t wanted to come straight to him. He’d always felt like a real father to her, and whenever it suited her, Nessa took advantage of his devotion. He liked to think he’d helped her and Michaela a great deal when they set up their business, and Nessa was grateful for that, he knew. But there was something she always held in reserve, feelings that she would have lavished on a real father and which she kept from him. Still, for most of their childhood, hers and Justin’s, he’d been the Good Cop to Phyl’s Bad Cop. She had been the one to see to all the day-to-day things that seemed to cause an enormous amount of friction and argument. Phyl had stood firm while Nessa’s rage at her own mother’s defection crashed against her.
    Phyl, poor thing, had also been second-best to Constance. Ellie’s children adored their step-grandmother, and whenever things were difficult Nessa had even articulated this by saying: I
don’t see why we can’t he adopted by Granny Constance. She’d love to be our mother. Why can’t she?
Phyl had explained that Granny Constance was too old to take care of children at her age. This story didn’t cut much ice with Nessa and was contradicted by the fact that his mother so often had Nessa and Justin to stay at Milthorpe and devoted so much time andattention to them. She loved them both but Justin was always her pet.
    Poor old Phyl. As he parked the car, the image of his wife, standing at the front window of their house and staring after him, came into his mind. She was so good, so kind, so eager to take care of anyone who needed taking care of that she’d never once complained about the burden of being a mother to Ellie’s offspring. Maybe she resented it inwardly, but she’d never said a word to him and he’d tried hard to share the weight of responsibility even though she’d done most of the day-to-day work. I’m lucky to have Phyl, he thought, and feeling suddenly happier than he had for a while, he found himself looking forward to his meeting with Ellie.
    There she was, standing by the iron railings on the Front, and waving to him as he approached. She’d suggested Brighton. She’d always liked the place, with its overtones of dirty weekends and assignations. He kissed her cheek and smelled the perfume he’d not smelled since the days when she was his wife: Oscar de la Renta. How strange memory was! He would have sworn that he’d totally forgotten that name.
    â€˜It’s good of you to see me, Matt.’
    â€˜A pleasure, I promise you,’ he answered, and discovered that he meant it.
    They began to walk along together. The sea, on his right, was flat and grey, areflecting a sky like gun-metal. It wasn’t cold for March, but not really seaside weather either. Matt preferred seaside resorts out of season and winds, low temperatures and cloud masses that looked like mountains in the sky suited him better than heat. He glanced sideways at Ellie. She was wearing trousers today, and a jacket the colour of raspberry fool in some velvety fabric. Her hair, still dark, was twisted up on top of her head and held in place with a kind of metal pin thing that he supposed was ornamental, though to him it looked more like a twisted outsize paperclip. There was a silk scarf wound round her neck.
    Perhaps they made an odd couple. Matt Barrington had never deluded himself. He prided himself on his honesty. He was aware that many people thought him, if not dull exactly, then unexciting. He could understand what had led them to