Everything to Gain and a Secret Affair (41 page)

“The best, and I don't know what I would have done without her. She's been a rock for me.”

“Has she met anyone nice lately?” Diana asked.

I shook my head. “I'm afraid she hasn't. Travel the world though she does, an attractive man has remained elusive.”

“I know what you mean,” Diana responded, giving me a rueful little smile.

I stared at her, and before I could stop myself, I said,
“Whatever happened to the man you told me about years ago, the one you thought was special? You said he was separated but not divorced, and was therefore verboten to you.”

“He's still in the same situation.”

“So you don't see him?”

“I do occasionally, yes. But only for business.”

“Why doesn't he get a divorce, Diana?” I asked, riddled with curiosity, as I had always been about the situation.

“Religion.”

“Oh, you mean he's a Roman Catholic?”

“Good God, no, not my Calvinistic Scotsman! It's his wife who's a Catholic and won't divorce him.”

“Oh,” I said, and fell silent, not wanting to probe any further.

Diana was also silent. She stared out the window for a second or two, her face pensive, her eyes sad. Then, rousing herself, she swung her face around to me and said quickly, “You've met him, you know.”

“I have!”

“Yes, of course.”

“Where?”

“In the shop, when you were in London with Andrew. In November of 1988. Robin McAllister.”

“That tall, very good-looking man?” I asked, staring at her.

Diana nodded. “I was showing him some tapestries, if you recall.”

“I remember him very well. He's the sort of man who leaves an impression.”

“True.” Diana glanced at her watch and stood up. “It's one o'clock. Shall we go and have lunch in the café? I'm feeling a bit hungry.”

“Let's go!” I exclaimed, also jumping up, realizing she wanted to change the subject.

* * *

“Won't you need a lot of extra help to fulfill your catalogue orders?” Diana asked, taking a sip of her iced tea.

“Not at first, since we're doing our initial mailing in January, for the spring,” I replied. “When I started the shops this year, my busy days were Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, so that leaves Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday for the staff to pack and wrap orders. That is, in the early spring. Everybody'll pitch in at first, and then I'll just take it from there. The summer months are obviously more difficult, and we'll have to adjust things. I'm going to play it by ear.”

Glancing around, I added, “It's only Wednesday, and look, the café is already very busy.”

“And you had quite a lot of people in the Kilgram Chase Gallery earlier, I noticed,” Diana said. “But take it one step at a time, one day at a time, Mal, that's always been my motto.”

“The thing that's surprised me is the success of the café,” I said. “It's been a hit ever since it opened. We're doing a lot of business, and people actually call up to make reservations.”

“It's a charming place, with these little green tables, the fresh flowers, and all the plants scattered around. And the products on display make a statement. It reminds me of a big country kitchen,” Diana remarked. “And it does smell delicious.”

“The food's delicious too. You'll see in a minute.”

“And Nora's doing all the cooking?” Diana asked.

“Her niece comes to help her on weekends, when it's really busy, otherwise she's alone except for Billy and Eric. Guess what is her most popular hot dish?”

“Cottage pie, recipe courtesy of Parky,” Diana said, winking at me.

“Yes. And the rest of the things on the menu are quiche, soups, and sandwiches. However, she now wants to do a few salads, and I think she's right, in view of the popularity of this place. And speaking of Nora, here she comes.”

Nora glided over, drew to a standstill at our table, and thrust out her hand. “Nice to see you, Mrs. Keswick.”

Diana shook her hand and said, “And it's wonderful to see you, too, Nora. Quite a success you've got here. Well done, Nora, well done.”

“It's all Mal,” she answered quickly. “She's the brains.” But nonetheless, she looked pleased. She gave Diana one of her rare smiles. “I hope you'll stop by and see my kitchen later. Now, what can I get you?” she asked, handing Diana a menu.

I said, “I'm going to have one of your pita-bread concoctions, Nora, please.”

“Don't tell me. You want sliced avocado and tomato.”

“However did you guess?”

Nora shook her head. “Oh, Mal, there's not a lot of nourishment in that. Let me put chicken in it as well.”

“Okay,” I agreed, knowing it would please her. “And I'll have another iced tea, please.”

“And I'd like to have the avocado and shrimp on pita bread,” Diana said. “And another iced tea, too, please, Nora.”

“Back in a minute,” Nora said and hurried away.

Diana asked, “Is she waiting on the tables as well, Mal?”

“No, she just wants to serve
you.
She's sort of proprietary at times, possessive, especially with the family.”

Diana smiled. “She's always been very devoted. And who's Iris, the young woman who looks after the house now? She seems awfully pleasant. She couldn't do enough for me this morning.”

“That's Nora's other niece. Iris's sister, Rose, is the one who helps out in the kitchen on weekends. I had—” I
broke off as Eric came hurrying toward the table, carrying the tray of iced teas.

“Here we are, Mal, Mrs. Keswick,” he said, giving us each a glass.

We both thanked him.

He half turned to go back to the cash register, which he had made his station, but hesitated.

“What is it, Eric?” I asked, looking up at him.

“Sorry to trouble you now, Mal, when you're at lunch. But I've just had a call from one of our customers, a Mrs. Henley. She wants to know whether or not we do private parties.”

I frowned. “Do you mean catering?”

“No. She wants to have a private party here. In the café. A sweet-sixteen party for her daughter and the daughter's young friends.”

“When?”

“In September. On a Friday night.”

“Oh, I don't know, I don't think so, Eric, that's bound to be a busy time, people will want to come in for cold drinks—”

“Don't say no quite so quickly,” Diana interrupted, putting her hand on my arm. “It could be quite profitable to have private parties, and it helps to get the place better known than it is already.”

Eric bestowed a huge smile on Diana. “I agree with you, Mrs. Keswick.”

“All right, Eric, tell the lady yes, but that you'll have to get back to her about the cost.”

“I will, Mal,” he said, giving me a little salute, which was a new habit of his, before he disappeared.

“I do like him,” Diana said to me. “He's the salt of the earth.”

“Just like Joe, Wilf, and Ben,” I said.

After we had eaten our pita-bread sandwiches, I sat
back in the chair, regarding Diana for a moment. Finally, I said, “I have a proposition for you.”

“You do! How wonderful!” she exclaimed, then paused and viewed me intently. “I thought you didn't want any partners.”

“I don't, in the shops. But this is something else.”

“Well, it can't be the catalogue. Sarah's your partner in that.”

“It's an idea I had months ago, but I've only just managed to think it through properly,” I explained. “I want to start a small publishing company, and I'd like you to become my partner in it.”

Leaning back in her chair, her head on one side, my mother-in-law studied me for a moment or two, then asked, “Isn't publishing rather dicey?”

“I think it can be, yes. But I'm talking about a small country press, publishing only a few specialty books, for sale only through my catalogue and here in the shops.”

“It sounds interesting, Mal, but don't you think you have enough on your plate at the moment?”

“I am doing a lot, that's true, Diana. But I'm not thinking of starting the publishing company until next year, and I'm not asking you to put up any money.”

“Oh, I see. But you
did
say you had a proposition for me.”

“I do. I'd like you to become my partner, as I said, publishing only four books to begin with, in fact, we might never publish anymore, after that.”

“Which books?” she asked, giving me a speculative look.

“Your books, Diana. The two Lettice Keswick diaries, her cookbook, and her garden book. Later we might do Clarissa's Victorian cookbook, but I'm not sure. If we went ahead, I would publish the Lettice diaries first, then her cookbook, and finally her garden book. It would be a special series, and therein lies its appeal, in my opinion.
Eventually, once they'd all been published, the series could become a boxed set, a gift item. I really think it'll work.”

“Where
will
you get the money? You say you don't want it from me.”

“Only because I don't think I'll need very much,” I pointed out. “Look, you own the books, and you're going to give me the rights. I can type up her text and do copies of her drawings. My only cost will be the printer and the bindery.”

“I'm willing to give it to you.”

“Thanks, Diana, but by the time I do it next year, I may well be able to finance the publishing project myself.”

“Whatever you want. But in any case, I think the idea is brilliant, Mal! Just brilliant! I'd love to be involved. In any way you want.”

I reached out and squeezed her hand. “Thanks. By the way, I'm going to call it Kilgram Chase Press. Is that all right with you?”

“I love it! How clever you are, darling.” She stared at me for a moment, and then she began to shake her head wonderingly. “What I said earlier is perfectly true, Mal. You
are
going to be a woman of substance for the nineties.”

I
lay in bed, staring at the clock in the dim light of the room. I could see that it was only four-thirty.

I had awakened sooner than I usually did. Although I was an early riser, and always had been, I generally slept until six. Lingering in bed for a while, I let myself drift with my thoughts. Then I remembered what day it was: Monday, the fourth of May. My thirty-seventh birthday.
Thirty-seven.
That didn't seem possible, but it was true.

Sliding out of bed, I went to a window, opened a blind, and stood peering out. It was still dark. But far off, beyond the trees and the wetlands, the horizon was tinged with a green luminescence, and wisps of pale light were trickling up into the sky. Soon it would be dawn.

Walking into my little sitting room next door, I sat down and stared at my painting of Lissa and Jamie, then my eyes automatically swung to Andrew's portrait above the fireplace.

Though my grief was held in check, my sorrow contained, my longing for them had not lessened. There was an aching void inside and, at times, moments of genuine despair. And busy though I was with Indian Meadows, loneliness was a familiar companion.

Last year I had finally found the courage to sort through
Jamie's and Lissa's clothes and toys. I had given everything away—to Nora's family, Anna's friend, and the church. But I had been unable to part with my children's two favorite possessions, Oliver, Lissa's teddy bear, and Derry, Jamie's dinosaur.

Going to the bookshelves, I took down these well-cuddled toys and buried my face in their softness. Memories of my children momentarily overwhelmed me. My throat suddenly ached, and I felt the rush of tears. Blinking them away, I took firm hold of myself, placed the toys in their places, and went into the adjoining bathroom.

After pinning up my hair under a cap, I took a quick shower. A few minutes later, as I toweled myself dry, I found myself glancing at the corner of the bathtub near the taps, as I frequently did. I had never found my art knife, after it had vanished the night I planned to kill myself. What had happened to it? It was a mystery, just as the empty tub and the open kitchen door were also mysteries.

Recently I had confided in Sarah, who had listened to me attentively.

When I had finished my tale, she had been silent for a moment or two, and then she had said, “I'm sure there's a logical explanation for these things, but I like to think it was something inexplicable, like a special kind of intervention, or perhaps the house itself looking after you.”

Sarah and I had long agreed that there was an especially wonderful atmosphere in the house these days. It seemed to us that it was more benign and loving than it had ever been, and there was an extraordinary sense of peacefulness within its old walls.

“It's a house full of loving, friendly ghosts, just as Andrew once said,” Sarah had murmured to me only last weekend. We had stared at each other knowingly then, as we realized we were thinking the same thing: Andrew,
Jamie, and Lissa were present in the house, for it was alive with our memories of them.

Once I had dressed in my usual working clothes of jeans, a T-shirt, jacket, and penny loafers, I went downstairs.

After putting on the coffee, I drank a glass of water, picked up the bunch of keys for the shops, and went outside. I stood looking around, breathing the air. It was fresh, redolent of dew-laden grass and green growing things; the scent of lilac planted around the house wafted to me on the light breeze.

It was going to be a pretty day, I could tell that. The sky was clear, unblemished by clouds, and it was already pleasantly mild.

As I struck out toward the ridge, a bevy of small brown birds flew up into the sky, wheeling and turning into the haze of blueness soaring above me. I heard their twittering and chirping as I walked, and in the distance there was the
honk-honk
of Canada geese.