Page 97 of Lipstick Kiss

Fate had other plans for Frederick Turner, and he was loaded down with learning all there was to know about the Turner empire.

If his wife, Imelda, was feeling better, he would have flown them to Italy, Greece, or anywhere else. But, sadly, she had taken sick again. She rallied for the last two weeks but was now back in bed with a mystery sickness no one could pin down.

He swung his duffle over his shoulder and walked along the gangplank of the ferry and onto dry land. The small port was quiet, with only fishermen getting ready to head out and catch the fish.

Not a single person said hello. Freddie waved but had their backs when they realised it was him. No one trusted the Turners, least of all his sister. What she did while he was away was anyone’s guess, but the harder he tried, the worse the residents of Copper Island treated him.

The only person who would give him any time was Pete Boyle, Imelda’s father. So that was his first stop before he headed up to Turner Hall. Freddie went around the rear of the butcher’s and let himself in by opening the gate. Upturned crates and barrels were strewn around, acting as seats with a seagull perched on one of them. Even the bird didn’t fancy hanging around a Turner and flew off as soon as eye contact was made.

Freddie dropped his duffle by the seating and then rapped on the glass door. Pete opened the door. He wore a clean plastic apron that would soon be covered in all manner of butcher meat in the coming hours.

“Welcome home, Freddie,” Pete said, bringing him in for a hug.

Freddie’s father was in his seventies and didn’t hug him when he returned from the rigs. Not that Archibald Turner would ever hug.

Pete was more of a father figure than he ever was.

“Thanks, Pete. How has she been? I talked to her yesterday, and she said she’s already feeling ill again.”

“Me and Betty have had her here every day for the first two and a half weeks you were away, and she left us fit and well. But then, when we saw her the day before yesterday, she could barely walk. She was so weak. Whatever is happening at that house is not agreeing with her. I hate to say it, Fred, but you might have to consider our suggestion,” Pete said.

“That was the worst-case scenario, Pete,” Freddie said.

Freddie slumped against the doorframe and ran his hands through his hair, bewildered at what was best for his wife and children. He hardly saw them as it was. Pete’s idea was to send his family away off the island and away from Cynthia while he was on the rigs, but it would disrupt the kids’ schooling too much. They were all under the age of ten, but time flew, and it was better to have the kids together than split them up between schools, three weeks on and three weeks off.

“I’ll talk to her again and see how she feels about it. Imelda worries that if she isn’t here when I get back, my sister will be on the warpath, and there will be no one to protect me. I’m locked in as an heir. If I abandon the estate, Copper Island will suffer, and I’m not prepared to let the residents down.”

“I really wish you’d let me tell people how committed you are,” Pete grumbled.

“No one will believe you. It’s a waste of your breath. I’ll talk to Imelda, and we’ll come for Sunday lunch with the brood.”

“Betty will love that.”

“Okay, we’ll come around eleven, and the kids can help her peel the spuds.”

“See you then,” Pete said, bringing Freddie in for another hug. “Take care up there.”

“I will, Pete.”

It had rained heavily on his way up to the estate. By the time he approached the front door, expecting Bailey to appear, he was soaked through. He didn’t expect to find his wife cowering in the corner under the gargoyles, trying to keep dry. Freddie didn’t know why she was out of bed, let alone standing in the pouring rain like she’d been evicted.

He dropped his duffle and ran the last hundred yards to where she was huddled, hands clasped under her chin. Her hair was bedraggled, plastered to the sides of her face. Freddie’s arms were around her back, with her pressed to his chest as soon as he was in reaching distance.

“Why are you out here, darling?” Freddie whispered.

“Cynthia thought it would do me good to get some fresh air,” Imelda said through chattering teeth. “I didn’t think I would come to any harm if she wasn’t near.”

“Where’s Bailey?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him today.”

Imelda burst into tears as she shivered in his arms.

Freddie crouched to swipe an arm under her knees and lifted her up. He stuck close to the side of the walls to keep out of the rain and came around to the back of the Hall and into the kitchens.

“Oh, my,” Melly, the cook, said. “What happened?”

“Can I put her in the restroom for a few minutes? I need to check on something,” Freddie said.

---