Morton lookedacross at Jeremy, who was doing what could only be described as eye-flirtingwith one of the Windsor-Sackville aides, a slick Hollywood-handsome young manwith perfect white teeth and bleached blond hair. At least Jeremy knewthat there was a risk of cancer in his gene pool and could do something aboutit. And now heart disease needed to be added to the list. Hewondered how his father was progressing today. Jeremy had called the wardthis morning to be told the standard mantra that he’d had a ‘comfortablenight.’ Would they tell him if he’d had an uncomfortable night?
Jeremy’srelationship with the man on stage had progressed to the next level; they werenow sharing in a silent, body-language-dependent conversation about Sir David’sspeech – eye rolling, smiling and frowning at each other like they were a pairof teenagers. Morton wondered if he would be more confident if he weregay. He couldn’t imagine ever being so self-assured as a part of anygender combination to be doing what they were doing now.
Morton studiedSir David closely as he perorated. Was there an atavistic resemblancebetween him and Peter or Finlay? It was hard to picture Sir David’sancient, papery face as a young person to be able to make a comparison.
As Sir Davidfinished, his wife, with considerable grace and elegance, made her way down tothe red ribbon. Her trusty aides had a watchful eye over her, ready tolurch out should she take a tumble.
‘It gives meenormous pleasure to be able to declare the Sedlescombe Fete…open!’ the ladyexclaimed loudly.
The gathering,now fully versed in crowd etiquette, clapped raucously.
Moments latereveryone had dispersed in a hundred directions, many heading towards the burgerand ice cream vans. Jeremy blithely bounced over to his new-found friendon the stage for the next phase in their relationship, whilst two of theentourage hurried walking sticks to the fragile Windsor-Sackvilles.
‘Come on,’Morton said to Juliette, ‘let’s wait for Lothario’s gay twin over here.’
‘You’ve got toadmit it, he’s got a good taste in men,’ Juliette remarked.
‘Hmm,’ Mortonmumbled absent-mindedly. It wasn’t something he felt in any way qualifiedto comment on other than that the aide was handsome. Men were eitherhandsome or ugly as far as Morton was concerned; there was no grey areain-between. They watched with veneration as a clear display ofnumber-swapping took place, before the handsome aide was reabsorbed into thetrain of attendants following Sir David and Lady Maria back into the buggywhere they were whisked off at high speed up the hill. Angry red brakelights flashed abruptly next to the apple-pressing tent and the partydisembarked the vehicle once more.
‘Come on,’Morton said, urging Juliette up the slope, just as Jeremy rejoined them.
‘Guy,’ Jeremysaid, proudly wafting a piece of paper in the air. ‘Australian.’
Curious name, Morton thought. Guy. GayGuy. Very peculiar. ‘Guy what?’
‘Disney,’Jeremy answered. And he wasn’t joking. Guy Disney.
‘He looks fit,’Juliette said.
‘I know!’
By the timethey had reached the apple-pressing marquee, a number of people had gatheredaround Sir David and Lady Maria, as if they were some kind of celebritycouple. Juliette returned to rummaging through a stall ofpaperbacks. Jeremy made a beeline for Guy and their relationship, whichseemed to all intents and purposes to be on hyper-drive, progressed to thelevel of Guy placing his hand in the small of Jeremy’s back while they spokeanimatedly to each other.
He turned hisattentions to the Windsor-Sackvilles, who were sipping apple juice from plasticbeakers whilst speaking to the wasp-besieged proprietor about the need tomaintain traditional agricultural practices. Sir David took a final swigof juice and tossed the cup into a large barrel then turned, his watery, agedeyes momentarily passing over Morton before flicking back in a brusquedouble-take.
Morton was inno doubt that the eyes that met his bore lucid and unmistakable recognition.
Sir Davidwhispered something in his wife’s ear then hurried towards one of his aides.
It was time togo.
Now.
Chapter Fifteen
Sunday
He had driven back to their former home inRye, back to what felt to Morton like a different world, anotherlifetime. So much had happened in such a short time that it defiedbelief. Yet here he was, back where he used to call home. Allalone. He looked at his watch – Juliette would right now be in theinterview which decided the fate of her PCSO career. She had no ideawhich way it was going to go and if the last couple of weeks had taught Mortonanything, then it was to expect the unexpected. ‘Great, thanks for thosewise words, Morton,’ she’d replied before leaving home for the lion’sden. Jeremy had thrown his arms around her and told her it would all workout fine. He would be at the hospital right now, visiting their father,contrary to his original plan of seeing Guy today. He’d rung the hospitalfirst thing to check on their father’s progress to be told that he’d ‘had avery bad night’. He was still alive, though, which Morton thought was aminor miracle in itself. He wondered what would happen to his newfoundrelationship with Jeremy when their father did eventually leave this mortalcoil. At the moment it was based in a surreal, parallel universe wherethey lived in the same house, shared clothing and went to village fetestogether. It was like a dodgy American sitcom on the verge of being axed.
Morton steppedout of the Mini into the damnable heat of the day and stared at the gapoccupying the space where his house had once stood. Apparently the twoadjoining properties didn’t feel able to support themselves without his housein the middle and had slumped into an unrecognisable pile of buildingmaterials, leaving in their wake a miniature Ground Zero. A spider’s webof scaffolding encased the neighbouring properties, presumably to stop thewhole of Church Square from dominoing into a pile of rubble. Thespectacle had evidently become one of Rye’s latest must-see attractions; a wholehorde of people stood behind the hastily erected barricade, gazing at thehalf-a-dozen workmen who seemed to Morton to be doing very little to clear thewreckage.
A red VauxhallAstra bearing the logo ‘Fire Brigade’ drew up to the cordon and a burly,
