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S is for – Sudden Death – never good any time
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It was a perfect day for a funeral. Overcast, cold, snow imminent, after a week of gentle falls culminating in a blizzard the night before.
I shivered. Was it her ghost?
No one had told me Gwen had died, and I had to find out from a newspaper. I guess that was the price to be paid, being an ex.
It was not my choice; she had decided to move on to bigger and better things with a man who would, in her words, more likely aspire to far more than I ever would.
At the time, I would have agreed with her. I didn’t make a fuss when I discovered the affair, nor did I make it difficult for her to do as she wished. I loved her, always would, and it was better to let her follow her heart.
The children, Ben and Amber, decided they wanted to go with her, the thought of living in a mansion, and having a life of luxury, was more appealing than staying with me.
Again, I didn’t object, believing they would be happier there.
And now, twenty years almost to the day she left, here we were. A cemetery. The last place I expected to be ten days before Christmas.
Oh, by the way, I hadn’t been invited to the funeral service, so I didn’t get into the church, which was for families and celebrities only. I was at the burial plot, waiting to have the last word.
Perhaps not getting an invite was a blessing in disguise.
To say that I abhorred Jerry Northington-Jobson from the very first moment I saw him would be an understatement.
He was the only child of perhaps the fifth richest noble family in the country, spoilt beyond reason, indolent, rude, and the last man I expected Gwen would so much as look once at let alone twice.
When his parents died, in suspicious circumstances, I might add, he became the seventh Earl of something or other, the owner of a dozen estates in England and throughout Europe, and then Gwen’s second husband.
He was a lucky man.
Until she died.
In the last week, there was little else in the newspapers, every minute detail of his affairs, of his company’s misdemeanours, and the most telling of all, how he had, in twenty years spent every penny of his inheritance, and then some, on bad investments, gambling, and simply travelling around the world.
Had Gwen been alive to see it, it would have destroyed her. I honestly believed she had no idea what their financial state would have been.
Nor would she, or any of her friends, had they been invited, have appreciated the funeral he had planned.
My cell phone vibrated in my hand.
“It’s over, sir.”
“Thank you.”
I felt, for a second, like I was in a spy novel. It was nothing like that, just a friend who had got into the church where the service was being held, so I’d know when the coffin would arrive at the plot.
It seemed an odd way of seeing her to her final resting place, but it was the only way. My request for a seat in the church had been denied.
It took about ten minutes before the procession came into view, with the priest leading the way. Jerry Northington-Jobson, at the lead of the coffin bearers, looked every bit the stricken husband over the loss of his wife.
Yet, according to the message I just received about the service, he had delivered a somewhat emotional eulogy that lacked, yes, real emotion.
It took five more minutes before the coffin was laid on the struts over the open grave, and those willing to brave the minus temperature to hear the last eulogy before her body was committed to the ground.
Fittingly, light snow began to fall at the same time the priest uttered his first words, in Latin.
I had forgotten they were both Roman Catholic. That had been another strike against me, I did not have the same faith in God.
“Are you really an irascible old man?”
I turned, then looked down. It was a girl, dressed in black, about five or six years old.
“It depends on who told you that.”
“My mother. She tells me you are my long-lost grandfather, the one we never talk about.”
OK, that was a surprise. Having not heard about any grandchildren, my two children too busy making asses of themselves in public as befitting the rich and somewhat famous, it was not improbable that this was my granddaughter.
“And why is that?” I kept my voice in the same low, conspiratorial tone.
“He deserted my grandmother, but I think he dodged a bullet.”
I almost laughed, just managing to keep a straight face. She was obviously repeating what she had heard elsewhere, but it was hard to believe it would come from Amber. Last words I spoke to her, she hated me.
“What’s your name?”
“Daisy “
“I’m Ken. Sometimes irascible, but I don’t go out very often.”
“Do you always hide?”
“Not usually, but today it was prudent. I don’t want to cause trouble at your grandmother’s funeral.”
“You don’t have to worry. My other grandfather has already done that. My mother says he’s an ass too, so it must be something all grandfathers have in common.”
A distinct possibility, I thought. I scanned the few people remaining, the snow falling harder now, and her mother was not one of them, or at least anyone I might recognise as Amber. It had been so long that she may have changed, and I’d not know her.
“It is most likely because we are old. Where is your mother?”
“In the church still. She is not very well. She told me to come out and see if you had come. Her description was quite accurate.”
I had changed, too, so how could she know what I looked like? Unless she had put two and two together. She never used to be that clever.
“Do you think she might want to see me?”
“I think so. It’s a bit hard sometimes to tell what she’s thinking. Perhaps we should go and find out.”
The last of the mourners had gone, and the snow had settled in. It was time to get indoors, preferably near a large fire. There was one waiting for me back at the inn I was staying for a few days.
“OK. Lead the way.”
Her little hand slipped into mine, and we headed towards the church. A thought did cross my mind that she was far too trusting of strangers, but then, I didn’t feel like one. Perhaps she had sensed that.
Still. I would have a word with her mother about it.
We dusted off the snow before going into the church. Not far from the entrance, a solitary person was sitting, head on hands.
Daisy left me and went up to her mother, shaking her. “Mummy, mummy, I found the man.”
Her mother lifted her head slowly and turned towards me.
That was the first shock, that she was the spitting image of her mother, exactly as I had seen her that first day. So flawless, so beautiful, so English.
The second shock, that she was very, very ill.
“Hello, daddy.”
I walked over as she stood and held out her arms. The next moment, she collapsed, and I just managed to catch her.
She was not just ill; she was very near death. I recognised the signs; she had the disease that finally killed her mother.
“Can you fix her?” Daisy asked, tears welling in her eyes.
“Yes. I know what to do.” I looked at Amber, her eyes watery but open. I gently lay her down. “How long have you been like this?”
“About six months. It’s been getting progressively worse. I told my mother, but she refused to listen.”
Just then, Jerry Northington-Jobson came in the entrance, obviously looking for Amber. “What the devil…” he yelled out. “What are you doing here?”
“I think you know why I’m here.”
“She wanted nothing to do with you.”
“Which is why I’m waiting outside to say goodbye. Amber is not well.”
“Attention seeking, more likely. Well, it may have worked on her mother, but it will not work with me.”
He came up to her and grabbed her arm.
Wrong move. I pulled it off, and then I hit him as hard as I could. There were twenty years of venom in that punch.
My personal assistant came in looking for me and stopped. It coincided with Jerry Northington-Jobson hitting the floor.
“Sir?”
“Get the helicopter fired up. Tell the pilot we need to go to London. Then call the fleet manager and tell him I need the jet. We’ll be going to Cannes, France.”
When she blinked as if it was indecipherable gibberish, I said, “Now, Bethany. We’re wasting seconds.”
Amber looked up, her expression less pained, and then stood. “I’m better now.”
“But not for long. You’re going to the clinic that your mother went to. I just hope we haven’t left it too late.”
Amber looked down at her stepfather. “What happened?”
“He spoke,” Daisy said, “and then your real daddy thumped him. I would have myself if I were grown up.”
“Violence doesn’t solve anything.”
The look on Daisy’s face said something different.
The priest came down from the altar end of the church and was aghast at seeing Jerry Northington-Jobson on the ground, and leaned over to help him up. “What happened here?”
I answered for him, “He made a comment about his stepdaughter that I found offensive. It’s quite common for weddings and funerals.”
Amber and Daisy headed for the door, not waiting to speak to Jerry Northington-Jobson. I didn’t blame her.
He glared at me. “This isn’t over?”
“I agree. You’ll be hearing from my lawyers. Now, it’s been a pleasure, Jerry.”
I caught up with Amber and Daisy just as the helicopter landed in the field opposite the church.
“Wow. A real helicopter. Are you rich too?” Daisy was surprised.
I shrugged. “I just know people who know people.”
It was a short walk to the aircraft, and when the co-pilot opened the door and activated the stairs, he came over and escorted us inside. He shut the door and went back to the flight deck. A few minutes later, we took off.
The rear cabin was insulated from the noise of the engines, but we wore headphones just the same.
“I was going to come and see you, but my mother died suddenly. She only just found out where you were, who you were. How did you have a different name?”
“My mother’s maiden name. I figured Gwen would want to know that I might have actually done something with my life. She was happy where she was.”
“And Ben and I?”
“She made me sign a document. We asked you who you wanted to be with, and you both chose your mother. I wasn’t going to argue the point or make demands. It was her idea of a clean break.”
“You could have waited a few years and then come back.”
I shook my head. I tried that, but she stopped it. It was before I made my first million, and not in the same class. But I did watch her and Ben grow up from afar, and at times. Make life easier for them, just don’t let them know about it.
“It was better this way. I was always hoping there would come a time, and I was very sad that it had to be at her funeral. How long have you been this way?”
“Six months. I knew something was wrong with my mother, but I didn’t think I had the same condition. I don’t have all the symptoms. If it is, I assume you know what it is? My doctor really has no idea.”
“Gwen didn’t tell you?”
“No. I guess she didn’t want me to fret over it, or she thought it would miss my generation.”
“It doesn’t. When we get to London, is there anything you need?”
“I have everything I need.” She glanced down at Daisy.
“No husband?”
“Never married. One steady boyfriend who was steady until he learned I was pregnant and then disappeared. Gave up on men after that.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. “I’m tired now. Wake me when we get there.”
I leaned back also and rested. It was a good idea to come to the funeral. All that remained was to discover where Ben was, and why he didn’t come to his mother’s funeral.
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© Charles Heath 2025
