*
Edward Kane had never really considered children – they were in his future somewhere, just like a sensible wife was; after all, he’d need a son to leave his business to – but he’d never spent any time with them. He swung James up in his arms, making the boy giggle. He was happy to be able to give him some freedom from the stuffy confines of his London life for a few moments. He had discovered that he enjoyed little James’ company. Despite his words, he wasn’t sure that Thomas Bond did. The doctor had been busy with a murder case for much of the time since his return from Southampton, but on the few occasions they’d all been together, he’d seen how the doctor avoided the child where he could. It was strange, considering how much he clearly loved Juliana. Kane couldn’t help it, but that love bothered him: he had all the respect in the world for Bond as a man and a professional, but the idea of Juliana and him as a couple revolted him. If he was honest with himself, he had to admit that what rankled him was less Bond’s feelings towards Juliana than hers for the doctor: she might think she loved him, sure, but it was surely a love born of obligation and gratitude. They were friends who loved each other, and he feared she was in danger of confusing that with being lovers.
Juliana. If anyone should be her lover then it should be him. He knew that without doubt. He should have been back in New York by now, but he’d rented some offices and hired a lawyer so he could continue his business while in London, in order to stay longer. His father would be spinning in his grave to know that his son was turning his world around to accommodate his feelings for a woman – but the good thing about graves
was that they were final. His father could twist and turn as much as he wanted; his son no longer had to listen to him. Edward Kane was very much a grown man, and he could do as he pleased. However, neither was he still quite the rebel of his youth: he was not ignoring his business and had in fact made some sound new investments whilst he was here. He freely admitted the business had become an adventure in itself, and he enjoyed it. He was also enjoying London in all its vibrancy and excitement.
And the most vibrant part of it was undoubtedly Juliana: Jim Harrington’s wife.
As if on cue, she opened the front door to them and sighed dramatically at their wind-fresh faces and beaming grins.
‘I got rocks!’ James held up his small pail.
‘So I can see.’
Kane put the boy down and he ran inside.
‘I hope he didn’t go in the water,’ Juliana said.
‘In this weather? Are you kidding me?’ He kept his tone light and she smiled.
‘I had better get you some coffee before you go back into town. You must be freezing.’
‘Maybe put a little brandy in it too,’ he said, closing the door and wiping down his feet. He watched her as she walked away, her slim hips moving from side to side behind her bustle. She was not like the American society ladies of New York, who were all so self-aware, conscious of every movement, the social standing of each new acquaintance, and especially of their own attractiveness in comparison with others. They were sharp: even when stripped naked and sweating with lust – and there had been plenty of occasions when that had been the case – there was an edge to them that he could not define.
He was sure that such women existed in London too, but perhaps in the part of society that belonged to ‘old’ money. There was no such thing in most of America – perhaps only in Boston. In New York it was the bankers and businessmen whose daughters were got up in fancy clothes and glittering jewels and paraded as examples of their fathers’ wealth. He’d found of late that most of them left him cold. Or maybe he was just getting older and the superficial was becoming jaded.
By the time Juliana returned with coffee, his trouser legs were rolled down and James had run off to wash and sort the treasures collected on their walk. The boy was happy, but a small shadow of concern had flickered across his face when he’d seen his mother. It wasn’t fair on either of them.
‘He’s a good boy,’ Edward said, taking the cup and saucer from her, ‘and he’s tougher than you think.’
‘He’s prone to fevers and chest infections like his father was.’ She sat opposite him. ‘I hope it wasn’t too cold outside. And that water – well, I’m sure you understand why he shouldn’t go in it. It’s full of filth.’
The lines between her eyes that had been slowly disappearing gathered together. Did she even realise the tension she was projecting?
‘You know something,’ he started carefully, ‘as adults, we have to learn to keep our fears from our children. They’re very good at picking up those things that don’t need language to communicate. I learned that from my relationship with my own father.’
‘Your father wasn’t murdered and thrown into a river.’ Her tone hadn’t changed, but her back had stiffened and she held her cup up over her mouth so only her dark eyes could be seen. He wasn’t a fool; the angry defensiveness in them was
clear. But damn the woman, he was no simpering disciple who would back down to her beauty, not when he was trying to do what was right, for her, and for James.
‘This is true,’ he said calmly, ‘and if that’s all you want James to remember of his father then you keep gripping him tightly and being afraid every time he wants to do things that are actually just part of normal boyhood behaviour.’
‘How I raise my son is none of your business.’ She carefully placed her cup down and stood up, ramrod-straight.
She looked quite magnificent. Edward smiled and raised an eyebrow. ‘So this is how we’re going to play it, are we?’
A flush rose in her cheeks. ‘I think you forget your place here.’
‘Perhaps I do.’ He stood up and moved closer to her. ‘But just think about it: one day he’s going to grow into a man and he’ll need to know more of the world than what you can show him from behind your apron strings. Let him breathe.’
She said nothing, but glared at him.
‘Why do you live so close to the river anyway?’ he asked. ‘I don’t understand, when it causes you so much pain.’
‘To keep James close,’ she said eventually. ‘So he doesn’t feel alone.’ As her eyes teared up she held her chin higher, and he found himself drawn to her even more. ‘I don’t know if he died before he went in the water or not, but if I don’t think of the river as being part of him then I don’t know where he died at all, and that is worse.’
‘He was very lucky to be loved by you.’ He watched her as she regained her composure. He wanted nothing more than to hold her, to wash away all that grief with his passion. His words must have resonated with his feelings because she wiped her hands on her dress as if dusting something off and then turned
away and picked up her cup. As she sipped from it he noticed the china trembling slightly. Was that the effect of her grief, or was she too feeling some of the heat between them?
‘Enough of this conversation,’ she said, breezily, ‘when it has been such a pleasant day. And you must be getting back so you have time to change for your dinner with my father and Thomas.’ She said Bond’s name as if it was armour. Was that it? Was he her protection against being hurt again?
‘I’m so sad not to have seen so much of him of late – although it has been very kind of you to keep me company – but I hope this dinner means that he will soon be able to find more time for me – and for James.’
‘I’m sure he will,’ he said dryly. ‘I know he’s very fond of you.’
She couldn’t meet his eyes, but her smile was wide, another new smile from a woman with a thousand of them. He thought perhaps this one tried too hard.
‘I’m looking forward to seeing him myself,’ he said, reaching for his hat and returning her smile. ‘He’s an interesting fellow.’
His words weren’t a lie; he was very much looking forward to seeing Thomas Bond again. He hoped that the surgeon had found time in his busy schedule to look through James Harrington’s letters. Although he was different in many ways to his late father, they shared a dogged determination, and the deeper in love with Juliana he fell – and although just the sound of her laughter could make him hard, he knew that this was something more than lust – the more he became curious about the torments Harrington had suffered at the end of his life. He wanted to lay him to rest. He wanted to allay his own guilt. He wanted them all to be able to move on.
*
It was a strange dinner. Charles Hebbert was in a fine mood and ordered far too much wine that they all made a valiant effort to consume, although Edward noticed that Bond wasn’t matching them glass for glass; he was sure that the doctor often raised his glass to his lips but didn’t swallow. It was entirely possible that he could not afford to start the next day with a hangover, or perhaps he didn’t have the head for wine that Kane himself had cultivated over the years, but by the time they had lit their cigars and relaxed with brandy, he was certain that Thomas Bond was not in the same convivial frame of mind as the rest of the party.
It hadn’t been noticeable at first. The conversation had flowed as they discussed Kane’s British business dealings, and then, satisfying Kane’s curiosity, the doctor had shared details about the death of the woman on the train that he had been investigating – perhaps more information than he should, but then, he was among friends – or maybe he had been speaking just to fill the space between them? He certainly had not mentioned Harrington’s letters, nor dropped any hints about their contents. Kane was itching to have a moment alone with him to ask, but thus far, however, that chance had not arisen.
Charles Hebbert waved away the conversation of Elizabeth Camp’s death, declaring that too much time had been spent digging into corpses and instead he started sharing anecdotes of Juliana and little James in the way that fond grandfathers – though not something Kane had ever experienced for himself – were wont to do.
‘I cannot believe we haven’t dined here before,’ Bond said as they leaned back in their fireside seats. ‘In all the years of our friendship I have never been to your club. Fancy that.’
‘It is very remiss of me, that is for certain. But’ – and Charles
smiled, his eyes twinkling merrily – ‘you have often dined in my home and with my family, and surely that is preferable.’
‘Of course.’ Bond sipped his drink. ‘You must be happy that you had so many dinners here with young Harrington before his sad demise – some time away from your wives to just talk business …’
From behind a haze of cigar smoke, Kane watched Bond carefully. His head buzzed slightly with the alcohol but his misspent youth had served him well in that regard and he was far from intoxicated. Was Bond trying to discover something about Harrington? He scanned his recollection of the letters for any relevance but couldn’t recall anything useful. Most of what was burned in his mind were the gruesome revelations and madness, not the day-to-day details. He wished he’d made copies before handing them to the doctor so that he could reread them himself.
‘Yes, yes.’ Charles’ face darkened in the memory of grief. ‘A bittersweet pleasure, to have had those times. Although now, of course, I would far rather he had spent those hours with Juliana, given their time together turned out to be so short. He was a fine fellow, young Harrington. It is so sad to lose one so young who had such a bright future ahead. And such a terrible end.’
‘Did he become a member here? I don’t recall,’ Bond continued, ignoring the emotional content of Charles’ words.
‘Are you considering it yourself, Thomas, dear fellow?’ Charles said, not answering the question. ‘If so, I would be more than happy to make the recommendation. Every chap should have a club – a sanctuary. Are you a member of any club in New York, Edward?’
‘I most certainly am,’ Kane answered, ‘although the Union Club does not have quite the heritage you have here. Not
yet, anyway. We’re a little behind you with our history.’ He laughed with Charles, whose face was glowing with the effect of the brandy on top of the wine, but his attention was still focused on Bond. He looked for some sort of signal from him, but none was forthcoming; instead, Bond stared into his glass for a moment and then excused himself. Kane was tempted to follow him, but Charles Hebbert leaned forward and slapped him on the thigh.
‘Glad to have you alone for a moment, young man – wanted to thank you for the efforts you have made with young James,’ he said as Dr Bond disappeared out to the foyer, no doubt seeking the bathroom. Kane was trapped where he was. His conversation with the good doctor would have to wait.
‘It’s not a chore. I like him – and Juliana.’ He sipped his brandy. ‘I think Jim was a lucky man to marry her.’
Hebbert chuckled. ‘I did wonder why you hadn’t yet returned to New York.’
‘I meant nothing untoward,’ he said quickly. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about Juliana with her father. If the growing attraction between them became the subject of discussion with her parent, she would withdraw from him; of that he was certain. Her defences were too great, her grief still too raw and she was still nervous of him, and probably of what might happen between them. He would work his way through her barriers, but he had not yet done so, and he would not risk losing her for the sake of a precipitate conversation with a doting father.
‘Thomas is very fond of her too,’ Hebbert added. His eyes drifted towards the door through which Bond had gone and for a moment they were thoughtful. ‘Although I fear he is not very fond of my grandson.’
‘Why would you say that?’ Kane asked, although he had also noticed Thomas Bond’s coolness around the child. ‘He’s probably just not used to children.’
‘Yes, perhaps that is it,’ Hebbert conceded. ‘He has always been a more reserved man than I. And I cannot deny that he has been a fine friend, and he has looked after Juliana well over the past few years. She was very ill for a long time after James was born. We nearly lost her too.’
‘Maybe that’s why he struggles with the boy,’ Kane said. ‘Because of her sickness?’
‘Such resentment isn’t in his nature. He’s a good man.’ This time the intent gaze was on Edward. ‘He really is good for her.’
‘I’m sure he has been.’ Edward wasn’t sure if his own shift in tense had been intentional or not.