Sidney Sheldon’s Mistress of the Game. Tilly Bagshawe

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СКАЧАТЬ out of the window.

      The true tragedy of Alexandra’s death, however, was not Peter’s retreat from life. It was the wedge that it had driven between Peter and his son, Robert.

      Robbie Templeton was Barney Hunt’s godson. Having known him since birth, Barney had seen first hand the unusually close bond between Robbie and Alexandra. As a psychiatrist, Barney knew better than most how devastating it could be for a boy of ten to lose his mother. If not handled correctly, it was the sort of event that could fatally alter someone’s personality. Dead mothers and estranged fathers: two of the key ingredients for psychopathic behavior. This was the stuff from which serial killers, rapists and suicide bombers were made. The danger for Robbie was very real. But Peter point blank refused to see it. ‘He’s fine, Barney. Leave it alone.’

      Barney’s theory was that because the child internalized his grief (Robbie hadn’t cried once since Alex’s death, an immensely worrying sign) Peter had convinced himself that his son was OK. Of course, the psychiatrist in him knew better. But Peter Templeton-the-Psychiatrist seemed to have shut down for the moment, overwhelmed with the pain of Peter Templeton-the-Man.

      Barney Hunt, on the other hand, was still very much a psychiatrist and he could see the truth all too clearly. Robbie was screaming out for his father. Screaming for help, for love, for comfort.

      Unfortunately his screams were silent.

      While Peter and Robbie drifted past one another like two ruined ghosts, one member of the Templeton household provided a tiny, flickering light of hope. Named Alexandra, after her mother, but referred to from the start as Lexi, the baby that Alex had lost her life delivering was already an utter delight.

      No one had told Lexi she was supposed to be in mourning for her mother. As a result she yelled, gurgled, smiled and shook her little fists with happy abandon, blissfully ignorant of the tragic events surrounding her arrival into the world. Barney Hunt had never been big on babies – a confirmed bachelor, and closet homosexual, psychiatry was his life – but he made an exception for Lexi. She was quite the sunniest creature he had ever encountered. Blonde-haired and fine featured even at six weeks, with her mother’s searching gray eyes, she ‘smiled whene’er you passed her,’ like Robert Browning’s Last Duchess, as content to be held by strangers as by her doting nurse.

      She reserved her broadest grins for her brother, however. Robbie was entranced by his baby sister from the moment she arrived home from hospital, rushing to greet her as soon as he got back from school, irritating the maternity nurse by dashing straight to her crib whenever she cried, even in the middle of the night.

      ‘You mustn’t panic so, Master Robert.’

      The nurse tried to be patient. The boy had just lost his mother, after all.

      ‘Babies cry. It doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with her.’

      Robbie scowled at the woman, full of contempt.

      ‘Oh really? How do you know?’

      Peeling back the soft cashmere blankets, he lifted his sister to his chest, rocking her softly until her cries subsided. It was two in the morning, and outside the nursery window a full moon illuminated the Manhattan sky.

       Are you out there, Mom? Can you see me? Can you see how good I’m taking care of her?

      Everyone, including Barney, had been worried that Robbie might have very conflicted feelings towards the baby. He might even become violent towards her, ‘blaming’ Lexi in some simple, childish way for their mother’s death. But Robbie had confounded them all with an outpouring of brotherly love that was as unexpected as it was clearly genuine.

      Lexi was Robbie’s therapy – Lexi and his beloved piano. Whenever he felt the smooth, cool ivory beneath his fingers, Robbie was transported to another time and place. Every other sense shut down and he became one with the instrument, body and soul. At those times he knew his mother was with him. He just knew it.

      ‘Robert darling, don’t lurk. Come in.’

      The forced cheeriness in Peter’s voice made Barney Hunt wince. He turned and saw his young godson hovering in the doorway.

      ‘Uncle Barney’s here. Come and say hello.’

      Robbie smiled nervously.

      ‘Hi, Uncle Barney.’

      He never used to be nervous, thought Barney. Who’s he afraid of? His dad?

      Standing up, he clapped Robbie on the back.

      ‘Hey, Sport. How you doing?’

      ‘Good.’

      Liar.

      ‘Me and your dad were just talking about you. We were wondering how things were going at school.’

      Robbie looked surprised. ‘School?’

      ‘Yeah, you know. Have the other kids been giving you a hard time? About the stuff in the newspapers?’

      ‘No, not at all. School’s great. I love it there.’

      He likes school because it’s an escape from this place. An escape from grief.

      ‘Did you want to ask me something, Robert?’

      Peter’s tone was tense, his speech clipped. He’d remained seated behind the desk since his son came in, rigid backed, his whole body clenched, like a prisoner on his way to the firing squad. He wished Robbie would go away.

      Peter Templeton loved his son. He was aware that he was failing him. But every time he looked at the boy, he felt overcome by a wave of anger so violent he could hardly breathe. Suddenly the bond that Robbie and Alexandra had shared in life, the love between mother and son that had once been Peter’s greatest delight, now left him consumed with jealous rage. It was as if Robbie had stolen those hours from him, those countless, loving moments with Alex. Now she was gone, for ever. And Peter wanted those moments back.

      He knew it was crazy. None of this was Robbie’s fault. But still the fury corroded his chest like battery acid. The irony was that Peter felt nothing but love for Lexi, the baby who had ‘caused’ Alex’s death. In his grief-addled mind, Lexi was a victim, like himself. She had never even known her mother, poor darling. But Robert? Robert was a thief. He had stolen Alexandra from Peter. Peter couldn’t forgive him for that.

      Even now, Peter sometimes overheard the boy talking to her.

      Mommy, are you there? Mommy, it’s me.

      Robbie would sit at the piano, a beatific smile on his face, and Peter knew that Alex was with him, comforting him, loving him, holding him. But when Peter woke in the night, screaming Alex’s name, there was nothing. Nothing but the blackness and silence of the grave.

      ‘No dad.’ Robert’s voice was barely a whisper. ‘I didn’t want to ask anything. I … I was going to play the piano. But I can come back another time.’

      At the mention of the word ‘piano’, a nerve on Peter’s jaw began to twitch. He’d been idly tapping a pencil on the desk. Now he gripped it so hard it snapped in his hand.

      Barney Hunt СКАЧАТЬ