The City Affair Page 5

  The vicar had rung Pamela and explained that he’d already spoken to Bernard and heard the dreadful news. After sharing his condolences, he came over to agree a date for the funeral and accepted a single glass of festive sherry as an antidote to the freezing fog which now ensnared the village.

  “Richard’s memory will long live on, of that I have no doubt,” the vicar had said sincerely as he took the only upright seat in the sitting room. “He’ll not only be remembered here in the village, but also in the City of London where he had such a formidable reputation. He was a hugely charismatic man, and gave the impression that he only wanted to look on the bright side of life. He dedicated his life to his work, and to his family. And we shouldn’t forget the support he gave the village.”

  Pamela, Simon and Tish sat in a row on the sofa opposite, listening as the vicar continued his impromptu eulogy fuelled by a single shot of the finest Portuguese sherry. “If it hadn’t been for his incredible generosity over the years, we wouldn’t be able to enjoy the church bells peeling out over the village every Sunday morning or have a roof that didn’t leak buckets during the winter.”

  Tish bit her lip as the vicar spoke. The charisma bit was certainly true, Tish thought, accentuated by the expensive Savile Row suits and golf attire. And then there were the cars, the Range Rover, which was his country car, and the Porsche and Aston Martin that he drove in the City and sometimes brought down to the country, usually in the summer months.

  His generosity towards the church, and his insistence on attending midnight mass had always slightly puzzled Tish, as it had seemed at odds with his agnosticism.

  But then again he had always maintained that a significant proportion of the congregation were as agnostic as he was and that church was just part of living in a community and the need to hold onto the belief that there was a higher plan and purpose. When it came to the vicar’s frequent requests for money from the pulpit though, agnostic or not, Richard Thorpe had always dug deep.

  So difficult to believe that they were actually talking about her father’s funeral and last goodbyes, Tish thought as she glanced over at the twenty or so silver framed family photos on the highly polished antique dresser in the corner of the sitting room, her eyes skimming each one in turn.

  There were the black and white shots of her parents on their wedding day, next to the picture of all three of them at Tish’s christening and together again on various holidays – the idyllic yachting holiday to Greece when they had island hopped for two glorious weeks under an intensely hot sun, and the white sandy beach in Antigua where they had sailed and snorkelled in crystal-clear turquoise waters.

  Yet, before Tish had even known about her father’s double life, she had been aware that there had been periods in between these photos that had not always been happy. Not one of those moments had been framed to provide the counter-balance to the life they had really lived.

  During the months he’d spent travelling the world for work the house used to feel as empty as it did now. But the difference was that her father had always ensured that he made up for his periods of silence, and absence, by coming home with expensive gifts for them both. Mostly Chanel No 5 for her mother and jewellery, silks scarves and handbags for both of them.

  He treated them first to the presents and then to his company, which was always electric - especially when he’d just got back - and then to almost anything they wanted.

  “And so Tish,” the vicar said, interrupting her train of thoughts. “It would be wonderful, as Richard’s only child, if you felt able to read something appropriate out at the service.”

  “Er, yes fine,” Tish said, looking first at the vicar and then at her mother. “I certainly want to say a few words, if I can find the right ones. I’m not sure how strong I’ll actually be on the day, but it’s important I try and do it I think.”

  “Good,” the vicar said, smiling back at Tish as he nodded his head in agreement. “That is the right answer. Your father loved you so deeply and it would be a fitting tribute. Don’t worry about it too much. You’ll find strength on the day and be as natural as you can be. You’ve got a bit of time to think about things.”

  And after only about forty minutes and a sherry later, the basics had been agreed for Richard’s funeral service at St Margaret’s, the beautiful old church at the top of the village with the ancient Thorpe-sponsored bells.

  The choice of hymns, the final readings and refreshments post funeral were all to be thought about over the next few days, and the vicar took an action to speak to the bell ringers.

  “What I think would be fitting,” the vicar said. “Is if we can arrange for the bells to ring out for quite a long time over the village on the morning of his funeral to celebrate Richard’s life and as a way of thanking him for his generosity.”

  “What a lovely idea. I’m sure Richard would thoroughly approve,” Pamela smiled across at the vicar. “Richard loved the bells. Often on a summer’s evening he would sit outside in the garden and just listen. He felt at peace when they rang, and always believed that it would be a huge loss not just to the village, but to him personally if they ever stopped.”

  “Well,” the vicar smiled back. “Thanks to him, they hopefully won’t be stopping any time soon. And I will see that they give him a very good send-off indeed.”

  Chapter 10 - The Final Send Off

  Just twelve days after the conversation with the vicar, Tish sat sandwiched between Pamela and Simon in the front pew of St Margaret’s church next to her father’s coffin. On top of the wooden casket sat a huge long single funeral wreath of white lilies and a letter addressed simply to “Dad” from Tish to be buried with him.

  The bells had rung out loudly over the village in the hour before the funeral, just as the vicar had promised. Now they were finally here at the church, Tish felt strangely numb. She knew her father was not in the box. She’d sensed that his spirit, the person he really was, had gone as soon as she’d had seen his body in the hospital morgue, his mouth open in pain and the blood drained from his face.

  And so she sat in church, on a cold January morning on pretty much the anniversary she’d met Simon on the Eurostar to Paris, holding his hand and her mother’s, staring straight ahead at the altar with her hand-written eulogy trying desperately hard not to break down.

  The days leading up to the funeral had been a blur, distinguishable only by lots of people offering support, help and food that none of them really wanted to eat.

  First there had been the WI, who’d insisted they would take responsibility for organising the refreshments in the village hall after the funeral and keeping everyone who attended topped up with food and wine and hot drinks from the usual array of village hall urns and vintage flasks.

  They’d told Pamela all she needed to do was to let them know what sandwich fillings she’d like, and whether there were any special baking or catering requests, a fresh tomato soup perhaps with a hint of basil to warm mourners up after the service with a fresh buttered roll on the side?

  After thinking about it overnight, Pamela had suddenly remembered all the food in the freezer she’d bought for the murder mystery evening, and so in the end they’d agreed on serving the finger buffet which Pamela had already made.

  Then there had been the multiple visits from the vicar, Frances and Bernard, who had all come around with sincerely spoken words. Bob Alpine had also popped round to ask whether the local amateur dramatics society should cancel the late January pantomime, in remembrance of Richard who’d been one of their biggest financial backers.

  Pamela and Tish had both vehemently rubbished the idea, urging him to go ahead as they were sure that it would have been what Richard would have wanted, particularly as Bob was playing Madame Twanky, and he would have found that endlessly amusing.

  As the organ started to play at Richard Thorpe’s funeral, the vicar made his way to the pulpit in a flowing cassock that billowed as he walked towards the beech coloured coffin and then around it to take hi
s place on the altar as the standing congregation took their seats in the ancient wooden pews.

  “We’re here today,” the vicar said, lifting both his hands up to God, “to celebrate the life of Richard Thorpe, a devoted husband and father and a hugely respected businessman and much loved member of our community. His daughter Tish, would first like to share some words with us about Richard and the man he was.”

  As Tish got up to speak, sheaths of golden sunlight suddenly flooded the church through the beautiful ancient stained glass windows. As this ethereal natural energy flooded the church, Tish took it as a sign that her father was there with her in whatever form that might now be.

  “Thank you, vicar,” Tish said falteringly, as she tried to pull on the skills she had learnt at drama school. Holding onto the pulpit tightly, she steadied herself as she looked up to find hundreds of solemn faces staring back, waiting for her to speak.

  “And thank you all for joining us today,” Tish said as she looked down at her notes. “Today is about celebrating a life that ended too quickly. I’ve written these short words as a tribute to the person I was proud to call my father.

  “Dad was a man who believed in living life to the full. He worked hard – some might say he worked too hard – to give us a life of comfort and privilege. He was a huge character, who loved his family, his work, his colleagues and his friends. His laugh was a defining characteristic and it rang out wherever he was in the house, and some of you will have enjoyed hearing it here in the church and around the village. A lot of people have told us they will really miss his smile and his resounding laughter, and so will we.

  “Dad was a man who, when not working, spent a lot of time outdoors. He learnt to sail as a young boy and loved golf, fast cars and exotic travel which almost always involved - you’ve guessed it – sailing and golf. When we look back on the life we shared as a family, we will remember his love and enjoyment of those things.

  “When he was working, which he loved so much, he excelled as a fund manager. What I admired about him most was his refusal to follow the pack. He was and always has been different. He loved the City, it was his second home.

  “Christmas was a special time of year for him, and he always made a big effort to be at home with us. He always used to say that when the world slowed down on Christmas Eve and he was there with just the two of us it was the greatest feeling in the world.

  “Many of you I’m sure will know, that the Thorpe family home at Christmas was extravagantly but tastefully decorated, thanks to Mum.

  “Dad loved Christmas because it spoke of family and togetherness, and so it was especially poignant that he died on Christmas Day, his absolute favourite day of the year.

  Turning towards the coffin, Tish then said the following words in the tone of a Shakespearean actress her voice ascending to the heavens.

  “And so darling Daddy, unbelievably, we have come to the end and to the last of our goodbyes. Goodnight and rest in peace until we meet once again.”

  Chapter 11 - Refreshments

  The pain of Tish’s loss became almost physical as her father started to be lowered into the ground. Simon provided a much needed emotional crutch as they stood at the graveside watching. In silence, they threw handfuls of soil onto the coffin and Tish made sure her letter was lowered with the wooden casket as she whispered her final goodbyes.

  After a few minutes of silence and private mourning they made their way over to the village hall and to Pamela’s finger buffet and the various hot drinks prepared by the WI.

  How strange, Tish had thought, that they now had to force themselves to speak to people when they hardly had any energy left to breathe and, even if they did have, couldn’t yet breathe a word about her father’s double life.

  The hall was full of aunts, uncles and cousins on her mother’s side of the family, whom she felt she should know so well and yet couldn’t remember seeing for a lifetime.

  They mingled awkwardly with Bernard, Frances and other neighbours, helping themselves to perfect triangular smoked salmon sandwiches and speaking in short sentences in between bites. Big urns of coffee were on display next to large tartan flasks of fresh tomato soup and tea. But, somewhat predictably, the red wine proved far more popular to the St. Margaret regulars.

  Pamela had fleetingly toyed with the idea of an alcohol-free wake to reflect Richard’s renowned sobriety but had realised that it would have created little short of an uproar in the village and had no desire for the funeral to create any kind of disquiet.

  “You were so strong Tish,” Frances said as she walked over holding a cup of tea in one hand and a delicately made cucumber sandwich and mini sausage roll in the other. “And you read so beautifully, your father would have been very proud. I’m sure he was with you as you read and was looking over your shoulder.”

  “Thanks so much,” Tish said, as she hugged Frances. “I got some strength from somewhere and I’d like to think I got it from Dad. It was easier than I expected it to be in the end, although I nearly wobbled a couple of times.”

  “Well, if you did we didn’t notice,” Frances replied, smiling kindly as she spoke. “And it was totally appropriate you celebrated your father’s life rather than simply weeping.”

  “Um,” Tish said. “I hadn’t thought of it like that. Well hopefully after today, we can start to quietly build new lives for ourselves, not that things can ever be the same without Dad.”

  “Time stands still until after the funeral,” Frances replied thoughtfully. “You will always miss your father, but you now need to move on to the next chapter of your own life, in the knowledge that he is by your side, and that living life to the full is what he would have wanted you to do.”

  Chapter 12 - London

  Tish returned to London by train three weeks after her father had died. Simon had stayed with them in the little village of Levenhurst for most of this period before having to go to the Far East to take a close look at the management of some seemingly massively undervalued manufacturing company.

  As Tish approached Charing Cross station, she wondered how she would feel seeing him again. Yes, he had no end of qualities that would excite any potential mother-in-law, and their nights of passion could certainly be red hot, but the truth was new life began to run through her veins she found herself day-dreaming about Cameron McKenna.

  And yet thinking like that made her feel extremely guilty, as it had been Simon and not Cameron, or anyone else for that matter, who had given her such amazing support during the trauma of recent weeks and she could certainly do with more of the same.

  But despite Simon’s kindness, the simple truth was that the prospect of being reunited with him still left her feeling underwhelmed. Maybe it was because the news that Peter Heyworth had just given them had turned her off relationships with men forever.

  There had been plenty of contact from members of the cast whilst Simon had been away. First to commiserate, and more recently she’d had invitations to celebrate the making of Double Lives, which was starting to be talked about as a movie with real box office potential.

  And Cameron in particular had been texting her with a frequency which both suggested he was over the moon by what they had accomplished together and that he wanted something from her.

  And ironically, it was only when she started to receive messages from an increasingly ecstatic cast that Tish had started to see the parallel of the film she had just finished filming and the events of her own life. And it was those thoughts that filled Tish’s head as the train got closer to London.

  She’d been amazed after her father’s funeral to learn that Double Lives, a quirky, low-budget film, could really be about to hit the big time.

  A movie about two young metropolitan couples leading totally separate lives until one day their stories become entangled with devastating consequences seemed to have no obvious mass appeal, at least not until the arrival of Cameron as the male lead.

  It was not the fact that the film could be big that
bothered Tish, it was the central theme which was about one man’s desires for someone else’s wife and the illicit highly-charged affair that ensued. The adulterer in question had been played to perfection by Cameron McKenna, with Tish playing his long suffering on-screen wife.

  Just before she got to the ticket barrier at Charing Cross station, she spotted Simon on the concourse looking handsome and expectant. Wearing his best casual clothes, he waved at her over the crowds as they surged around him.

  It was a really good smile, Tish decided, as thoughts of Cameron and Double Lives evaporated. How simple it would be to just fall back into Simon’s arms and let him take care of her, Tish thought, her mind playing out the possibility as she smiled back and waved.

  “Hey, welcome back to London,” Simon whispered into her ear as he hugged her tightly. “I’ve missed you so much, babe.”

  “You too,” Tish replied, half responding to his embrace before pulling away and asking him a very mundane question. “How was the trip?”

  “Not bad,” Simon said, taking Tish's bag and guiding her to his car which he’d managed to park only a street away. “Think I may have unearthed a gem investment-wise and they certainly dish up a mean green curry served up on banana leaves over there.”

  As they headed towards Simon’s flat in the Barbican, Tish voiced her unease at being in London again. “It feels so weird. Normally, I’m so relieved to get back but I’m not sure how I feel today.”

  “Hey, don’t say things like that,” Simon reprimanded her. “It sounds like you don’t want to see me.”

  “God no, I didn’t mean that,” Tish fibbed. “My bad mood has got nothing at all to do with you. I’m just not sure I want to have anything to do with the movie and I certainly don’t think I can face watching it.”

  “What?” Simon shouted out over the noise of the traffic. “What on earth do you mean? You’ve just worked on a great film after years of trying to get any kind of a part in one, so now’s the time to enjoy some of the trappings that go with success.”