Free Folly's Child by Janet Tanner

Harriet,’ he said. ‘But I see now there’s no point in hiding them any longer. Besides, you are a grown woman now, and I dare say the truth will come out whether I tell you or not. Your mother was having an affair with Greg Martin. She was besotted by him. When she followed him to Italy I believe she had already made up her mind to leave us and go to him. That was why what happened on the boat makes very little difference to me. Whether she was killed or not is almost immaterial. As far as I am concerned, she was dead to me the moment she walked out the door.’
    Harriet crossed to the window and looked out. The towers of Manhattan seemed almost to be touching the cold grey sky. Far below, in the street opposite the 550 building, stood the tall statue of the Garment Worker, strangely distorted from this angle, and around the plinth on which it stood ant-like figures of vagrants and layabouts sat, oblivious to the cold. For long minutes Harriet stared down, unseeing.
    It was not her father’s revelation of an affair that surprised her. The official story had always been that Greg was simply a close family friend, but a child could have seen through the pretence and she had not been a child for a very long time, perhaps not since that long-ago night when she was four years old and had stood, unseen, outside a bedroom door … No, it was her father’s attitude that had shocked her. ‘She was dead to me,’ he had said and she could see he meant it. She was used to his ostrich ways – his ability to bury his head in the sand and shut out the things that displeased or upset him. But all the same … Harriet gave her head a small shake, hardly able to believe that even he could be quite so coldly dismissive.
    â€˜Could I have a drink?’ she requested.
    â€˜Coffee? I’ll buzz Nancy.’
    â€˜No – a proper drink. The alcoholic sort.’ She broke off with a short laugh. ‘ Don’t look at me like that, Dad. This may be the middle of the afternoon to you, to me it’s evening – and the end of a very long day.’
    â€˜Whisky? Bourbon?’ he asked, opening the elegant black-laquered cabinet.
    â€˜Whisky, please. Scotch if you’ve got it – or are you waving the emerald flag for the benefit of certain up-and-coming Irish politicians of the lineage of the closest thing we in the States have to a royal family?’
    â€˜I have Irish whiskey, of course – but also Scotch.’ He poured her some and handed it to her. ‘I won’t pretend it pleases me to see you drinking it, Harriet. I know you’re a grown woman but so are most of the others who lurch their way down the not-so-primrosy path to the Betty Ford Clinic.’
    â€˜Dad!’ She rolled her eyes heavenward.
    â€˜I know. I sound like a nagging father. But I’ve seen a few of them on the slippery slope – the Shiny Set, the stars, the Washington widows …’
    â€˜Inadequates.’
    â€˜Don’t be so sure. It gets a hold of you, Harriet.’
    â€˜All right, Dad, you’ve made your point. I wish I hadn’t asked for the damned drink now. But as I said, my body hasn’t adjusted to the time-lag yet. When it does, I promise not a drop will pass my lips before dinner. Except of course …’ she broke off to toss back the rest of the whisky and set the tumbler down on Hugo’s desk, ‘except of course that I don’t suppose I shall be here long enough to make the adjustment.’
    He was unable to hide his disappointment. ‘You’re going back to London?’
    â€˜No. Not yet. I’m going to Australia.’
    â€˜Australia? … oh!’
    She nodded. ‘Yes. I’m going to try and find Greg Martin. I’m sorry, Dad, but I can’t just let this thing pass – sit back and pretend it hasn’t happened. It’s very important to me – and, I should have thought, to you too.