Free Summer House by Marcia Willett Page B

school, so straight; though he’d always stood by him, always taken his side. Nick made a face. Of course, there had been a few occasions in the past when he’d been in disgrace: that shoplifting stunt when he’d been at boarding school, for instance, and a bit of a drugs problem at uni; but nothing really bad, nothing serious. Not like this.
    He groaned aloud in his despair. He’d give anything, anything at all, to turn the clock back. He slowed down as he approached the tollgate but there was no one in the booth. He wasn’t surprised, it was too cold to be standing about today – and too bloody cold to get out of the car to put the money in the slot and, anyway, he hadn’t got any change. He’d pay double next time. Meanwhile he drove on with a placatory wave of the hand to anyone who might be watching from the cottage window. Maybe they’d recognize him, and they’d understand.
    All the way down the winding road, through Allerpark Combe and into Porlock, he was thinking about Alice and the children.
    â€˜Will you tell your parents?’ he’d asked diffidently.
    She’d given him the cool, contemptuous stare that seemed to be her habitual expression just lately.

    â€˜No,’ she answered. ‘I don’t think I could bear them to know just what a stupid immoral prat you are. If you can sort it then nobody except us will know. I certainly couldn’t go on if it became common knowledge.’
    Humiliated, he’d accepted all of her strictures: he had no choice.
    â€˜If you had to do something so despicable at least the timing was good. The half-term fortnight’s been booked for ages so my parents won’t suspect anything. Except that you were going to get down to see us whenever you could. Well, you can forget that, I’m afraid. I shall invent some crisis for you. When you know what Milo says you can text me.’
    â€˜Don’t forget,’ he’d wanted to cry defensively, ‘what the money was spent on. That two-week skiing holiday in Verbier, for instance, when you insisted on taking a chalet and inviting six friends as pay-back for hospitality, not to mention your new must-have Mercedes hatchback.’
    Of course, he’d said nothing: there were no excuses. Driving ever more slowly along Bossington Lane and into the village, Nick tried to brace himself: at least Im was on his side. He looked up at the High House standing up on the hill and with a sinking heart turned up the drive.

CHAPTER NINE
    Milo came strolling out to meet him. He could see at once that Nick was stiff with apprehension, his face clenched and pale. All the older man’s irritation drained away, though his anxiety increased, and he put an arm around his son’s shoulders and hugged him.
    â€˜Good trip?’ Stupid question: he knew quite well that the journey must have been hell. ‘Lottie is out with Pud but she’ll be back later. Like some tea?’
    He sensed Nick’s relief. It had been Lottie’s decision to be out when Nick arrived.
    â€˜He’ll probably want to unburden himself at once,’ she’d said. ‘He’s always been like that, hasn’t he? It’ll be agony for him to sit around making polite conversation over the teacups. I’ll take Pud for a long walk and hope that you have enough time together before I get back.’
    Leading the way into the house, Milo felt unbearably nervous; he was too old, he told himself, for this kind of crisis. He felt vulnerable. He made tea while Nick talked
rather aimlessly about the journey from London and tried not to get in the way; but as soon as he put the mug into Nick’s hand he wasted no more time.
    â€˜So what is it?’ he asked. He knew that he looked severe and that his voice was brusque but it was the only way that he could manage to control his own nerves. ‘Sit down and tell me what’s happened.’
    Nick put his mug on the table