Robert Goddard - Borrowed Time

“Informally, we’ve been told it’ll take place straight after Easter.”

“That’s only another six weeks or so.”

“I know. But it can’t come soon enough for me. Or Daddy. Once it’s over, maybe we’ll be able to start living again. I don’t mean I want to forget Mummy. Or what happened to her. But we’re all worn down by waiting. Especially Rowena.”

“How is she?”

“Better than when you met her. More controlled. More certain about what she has to do. I think she’s going to be all right. In court, I mean.”

“And after?”

“She’ll put it behind her. She has to. And she’s stronger than you might think. Really.”

“Do you want me to see her again-before the trial?”

“Better not, I reckon. She hasn’t said any of those… weird things about Mummy since…” She shook her head. “Well, for a long time.” How long? I wondered. Had Sarah just stopped short of suggesting I was the cause rather than the cure?

“I’m sorry,” I began, “if I mishandled things… when Rowena and I…”

“Forget it,” she said, significantly failing to contradict me. “It doesn’t matter. It won’t, anyway. Not once the trial’s out of the way.” Assuming, she didn’t add, that the trial went as smoothly as she hoped. And ended with the verdict she wanted to hear.

Sarah’s information proved to be accurate. The trial of Shaun Andrew Naylor for rape and double murder opened at Birmingham Crown Court on Monday the eighth of April 1991. I was notified that I’d be required as a witness, probably during the second week. Until then, I was left to follow events through newspaper and television reports like any other curious member of the public. I learned, just as they did, that Sir Keith Paxton was in court each day to hear the often harrowing medical evidence of how his wife had died. And I could only wonder, like them, how Naylor hoped to be acquitted when DNA analysis appeared to identify him as the rapist. Pleading not guilty was either a gesture of defiance on his part or there was something we were all missing.

I cut a pretty distracted figure at work during this period, my thoughts dwelling on events in Birmingham when I was supposed to be concentrating on matching cricket bat production to early season demand. As a result, I was a virtual spectator at the board meeting on 11 April, when Adrian unveiled his plans for penetration of the Australian market. An agency wasn’t enough, according to him. Corporate presence was necessary. And Viburna, an ailing Melbourne sportswear manufacturer, was the key. He proposed a takeover, which would give Timariot & Small direct access to Viburna’s customers, creating a perfect springboard for promoting combined cricket bat and accessories sales throughout the continent. Viburna could be ours for little more than a million. So, what were we waiting for? Nothing, apparently. Simon was keen. Jennifer said she’d look at the figures, but agreed we had to expand if we weren’t to contract. And I made the mistake of thinking we could consider it in more detail later. Adrian and Jennifer were to report back after a fact-finding visit to Melbourne in May. Until then, no decision was to be taken. But already the idea had acquired a crucial momentum. It was Adrian’s first big independent project as managing director. With the shares he’d inherited from Mother, he now held the largest single stake in the company. What he wanted, sooner or later, he would have. And so would the rest of us.

I travelled up to Birmingham the following Sunday and booked into the Midland Hotel. Sarah had told me she and her father would be staying there that night with Rowena, who was due to testify immediately before me on Monday morning. We’d agreed to dine together. It was the first time we’d all met since the lunch in Hindhead and I wasn’t sure what to expect. But Sir Keith soon put me at my ease. He looked tired but determined, shielding his daughters as best he could behind a show of imperturbability.

As for Rowena, she’d changed, as Sarah had said. The intensity was still there, but the threat of imminent disintegration had vanished. She was in command of herself, though how certainly I couldn’t tell. Her manner had become distant. I don’t mean she was hostile towards me, or even cool. But she’d retreated behind a mask. And though the performance she gave was convincing, it was also expressionless. As if she’d willed herself to forget whatever was inconvenient or ambiguous in her recollections of 17 July 1990. At the cost of the most appealing part of her personality. She was still fragile. But somehow no longer vulnerable.

“I can’t tell you,” said Sir Keith when the girls had gone off to bed, “what a help your sister-in-law’s been to us these past few months.”

“Bella?” I responded, unable to disguise my surprise.

“She’s a wonderful woman, as I’m sure you’d agree. She’s put Rowena back on her feet in a way I don’t think I’d have been able to.”

“Really?” This was news to me. And news I didn’t much care for.

“I’ve found her company a genuine tonic. We have bereavement in common, I suppose. Her husband. My wife. Only those who’ve suffered in the same way can really understand, you know.”

“I’m sure that’s true.” But I wasn’t at all sure it applied to Bella. She must have given Sir Keith a vastly different impression of her reaction to Hugh’s death from the one I’d received.

“I only wish she could have been in court last week. I’d have been glad of a friendly face. But the prosecuting counsel… Well, my solicitor actually… Some nonsense about how it would look if…” He puffed his cheeks irritably and sipped some brandy. “Still, when this ghastly business is all over…” Then he grinned. “Just wanted to put you in the picture, Robin. So it doesn’t come as a shock. Some people can be damned prudish about this sort of thing. But not you, I dare say.”

“No. Of course not.” I smiled cautiously, trying not to show my incredulity. And something worse than incredulity. Disgust? Disapproval? Not quite. What I really felt was a form of jealousy. How dare Bella try to replace Louise Paxton? How dare Sir Keith even think of allowing her to? He should have loved Louise too much for such a thing to be possible. He should have loved her as I would have done in his place. Instead of which-

“I’ve you to thank for meeting Bella, of course. If you hadn’t recommended Sarah to her as a lodger… Well, I’m grateful, believe me.”

Oh, I believed him. I’d be earning his gratitude twice over-though he wouldn’t realize it-by what I said in court about his no longer irreplaceable wife. That’s what made it so hard to bear. Sometimes, it’s better to be cursed than to be thanked. And sometimes it’s the same thing.

We went to the courts together next morning. They were housed in a modern city centre building externally similar to the offices of a prosperous insurance company. Inside, three galleried floors were crowded with lawyers, clients, policemen, journalists, witnesses and assorted hangers-on. Anxious consultations were under way in stairwells and corridors. And many of the faces were deadly serious. Some of its chain-smoking victims might think the law a joke. But none of them regarded it as a laughing matter.

Sir Keith and his daughters knew what to expect. They’d been there before. A few press cameras snapped as we entered, capturing Sir Keith impassive in three piece pin-stripe and old school tie, Sarah sombre and black-suited, Rowena pale but composed in a lilac dress. We climbed to the top floor and Sir Keith went into Court Twelve while Rowena and I waited outside with Sarah. Within ten minutes of the start, Rowena was called. I wished her luck, which she barely acknowledged. Then she was shown in by an usher and Sarah followed, leaving me to kick my heels as the morning slowly elapsed.