The Boat House (22 page)

She sat for a while, after Cook had gone back to the kitchen, until she felt fully restored. Gradually her confidence returned. She thought long and hard about Mr Edgar Lunn. He was a fraud, she decided. A cape and a deerstalker hat in June? How unlikely was that? Did he even look like a man who would be familiar with boats? Of course he didn’t. He may have fooled Mr Croom but he had not fooled her. The best form of defence was attack. She would waste no more time worrying but take action. She would telephone Mr Croom and warn him not to be so gullible in future – and never to talk about the boat house with anyone else.

Before she could carry out this plan, however, Cook came back, flushed with excitement. ‘That man, Madam. Lorna said his name was Edgar Lunn. I said it never is! Edgar Lunn! It can’t be!’

Georgina frowned. ‘He did say that was his name. Should I have recognized it?’

Cook’s smile broadened. ‘Only if you read his books, Madam. He’s a writer. Writes mysteries.
The Church at Long Eagle
– that’s one of his. I’ve read that twice. And
The Secret of Downey Hall
. And
Once A Villain
. That’s wonderful, too. My aunt buys all his books and lends them to me. I haven’t read
The Secret of Downey Hall
yet but I know it’ll be very good. Edgar Lunn is ever so famous. I knew he’d moved to Henley but I never thought I’d meet him. Well, I didn’t actually
meet
him, did I, but I saw him in this very house – although his back was to me so I didn’t quite see his face. Fancy him coming here. It just goes to show . . .’

Georgina said faintly, ‘Cook, please!’

‘Oh yes!’ Cook cried. ‘I nearly forgot.
Shadow Over Marksby
. That was about a soldier who deserted while on active service and . . . I can’t remember how that one ended.’ She took a deep breath, beaming with excitement. ‘Wait ’til I tell my aunt he was here.’

Georgina sat very still after Cook had returned to the kitchen. An intense relief washed over her and, with clasped hands and a bent head, she gave thanks to God. Despite his eccentric appearance, Edgar Lunn
was
genuine. So why did he have to wear that ridiculous outfit? She thought about the recent scene and wondered what the poor man would make of it. Not that he was poor in any sense of the word if he had just bought a house and an expensive boat.

Oh dear! What a fiasco! Georgina smiled faintly. Maybe he would write her into one of his mysteries as a silly, hysterical old woman! Should she write and apologize, she wondered? No, because how could she explain her apparently irrational fear?

Thoroughly mortified, she did not know whether to laugh or cry. Thank heavens she had not made that irate telephone call to Mr Croom! Cook had saved her from that mistake. Now that she understood she began to regret that she had sent him packing. A famous author coming to her for help. That would have been something to tell the people at her next bridge night – something to impress them . . . Unless Edgar Lunn was at this very moment planning to tell
his
version of the meeting to his cronies at the golf club!

The minutes ticked by and at last Georgina decided there was no way to undo the damage and the entire stupid incident was best forgotten. Water under the bridge. She allowed herself a wry smile. ‘Sometimes, Georgina Matlowe, you can be very foolish,’ she admitted and her deep sigh was heartfelt.

Ida had bought the twins a dolls’ house and had invited them over for the day to play with it. Georgina had insisted that she was too busy with ‘various correspondence’ but had nominated Marianne to escort them and they arrived around eleven on the Monday following the debacle with Edgar Lunn. While Ida and Marianne chatted, Emmie and Edie explored the dolls’ house, discovering that the entire front wall opened and the roof lifted. They gazed into it, enchanted.

‘Downstairs it’s the kitchen and the front room,’ Edie explained, ‘and upstairs . . .’

‘It’s the bedroom and the teeny box room. There’s a big bed for the mother and father and a small bed for the little girl.’

‘We should give her a name, Emmie.’ Edie picked up a small pegtop child and considered her. ‘Does she look like a . . . a Caroline? Or Madeline?’

‘Or Jaqueline?’

‘Or Angelina? Or Marianne!’

They both giggled.

Edie said, ‘Or Maude – like the lady at Sunday School, because they both have dark hair.’ Replacing the doll she peered into the kitchen with squeals of delight. ‘Look! It’s a teeny, tiny frying pan . . . and there’s a kettle and a saucepan . . .’

In the kitchen Ida had asked Marianne for a report on Georgina’s health and Marianne had described the incident with Edgar Lunn.

Ida shook her head, mystified. ‘I’ve heard of him, of course, but I don’t read mysteries. I like romance . . . But what on earth could he have said to upset her? Had he been rude to her?’

‘Who knows? I can’t imagine why he should be unpleasant in any way. According to Lorna—’

‘Who was no doubt eavesdropping!’

‘I daresay she was.’

‘Servants always do.’

Marianne felt uncomfortable. She was being encouraged to spy on her employer so presumably that made her no better than the servants. ‘Lorna thought they were talking about the boat house,’ she said, ‘and a Mr Croom was mentioned. Mr Lunn was sent packing in no uncertain terms, it seems, and Mrs Matlowe was obviously shaken by the meeting and needed a glass of water and her tablets. Cook said she was terribly pale.’

‘Tut! She’s not supposed to get upset. It’s bad for her heart. Mr Prendergast told her to stay calm.’ Ida sighed. ‘I do wish she’d confide in me. I’m sure I could help her if she would only trust me . . . Maybe I ought to move back in with you but she seems set against the idea. And what is all this about “various correspondence”? Who is she writing to? I asked her but she snapped that it was private and that she didn’t ask me about my correspondence – which is true, but then I don’t hide myself away the way she does.’

Edie appeared, holding a bed from the dolls’ house. ‘There are no sheets and blankets. How can they go to bed?’

Ida laughed. ‘I was waiting for you to spot that,’ she told her. ‘You and Emmie will have to make some sheets and blankets. Now . . . let me see what I can find.’

Emmie arrived with a table that lacked a tablecloth. Within minutes Ida had found a sewing basket and some pieces of material, remnants of earlier sewing activities. Two small pairs of scissors completed the finds. ‘Now off you go and measure up the beds and the table, cut out the materials and see how it looks. If you want to you can turn up the edges. You’ll find needles and threads in the sewing basket.’

The twins went back to the front room, chattering excitedly over the project.

Marianne said, ‘At least she takes the pills regularly.’

‘That’s something to be thankful for!’ After a short silence Ida leaned forward confidingly. ‘Not a word about this to anyone, Marianne, but I am thinking about offering to move into The Poplars
permanently
to keep an eye on Georgina. To be close at hand in case . . . Well, in case she has a heart attack.’ She sat back. ‘You look shocked.’

‘Shocked? No, but surprised. Do you think your sister would agree to that? It might be a good idea . . .’ She hesitated, certain in her own mind that Mrs Matlowe would fight the idea tooth and nail. But if she did agree to the idea, would it improve matters?

‘We don’t get on very well, I admit, but now I feel Georgina needs support if she’s to survive this wretched heart trouble. I would keep my flat on so that, if things become fraught, I can slip away for a few days and let any friction fade. Even if the idea doesn’t work out, I shall have had time to understand more of what is going on with her. I’m convinced that something is troubling her and I’d like to know what it is. She is the only family I have . . .’ She sighed heavily. ‘Anyway, we shall see. When I think the time is ripe I shall put it to her. I’ll think of an excuse that makes me the needy one!’ She smiled regretfully. ‘I know Georgina better than she thinks I do!’

That afternoon Georgina made another attempt to finish her letter to Ida.

The trouble started with a quarrel between us when Neil was at the dentist and one morning I found Leonora in the boat house, which was against my most strict orders. She had decided to explore, she told me airily. When I challenged her she suddenly announced that, as a surprise birthday present, she was going to buy a new punt for Neil. She said it was such a waste to have the boat house and never use it and that Neil had expressed regret that they never took part in the regatta. Whether that was true or not, I don’t know. She told me this, knowing how much I hated the idea of the regatta and anything to do with the river . . .

Georgina shuddered, seeing the scene again with horrible clarity. Time had not dulled the image of herself and Leonora staring at each other with mutual dislike – Leonora smiling in triumph and Georgina apoplectic with fury at being outmanoeuvred. Perhaps that was the moment, she reflected, that her heart had first come under strain.

She insisted that I need not be involved but that she and Neil would watch the races together. I at once imagined them in the punt, opening a bottle of champagne and crowing over her success – and I imagined me at home, fearing at any moment to hear news of a disaster like the one that killed Uncle Walter . . . I then made a fatal mistake by forbidding her to carry out the plan. I swear, Ida, that her eyes lit up and she made up her mind to beat me.

I was so angry that for a moment I was speechless and then I slapped her face. That took the smile off it!

Georgina regretted the last sentence but it was too late. She had written it. It made her sound spiteful and even vicious but it was the truth. Leonora had brought out the worst in her.

Then she made a mistake that was definitely fatal – she laughed and said, ‘You really are a bad-tempered old witch! Neil said you could be difficult but boy! He was being generous!’ Of course I didn’t believe a word of it. I know my son better than she did and he would never say that about me. Never!

I lashed out at her again and she took a step back, fell into the water and hit her head against the old punt as she went down. I swear I did not mean to kill her. I did not mean to push her into the water. It was an accident. Somehow I overcame my fear of the water and looked for her, hoping to pull her to the side and help her out . . .

‘I didn’t mean to kill her.’ Georgina spoke in to empty room. ‘I would never deliberately kill the twins’ mother or my son’s wife. I’m not a monster.’ She closed her eyes and swallowed, her throat dry as dust. ‘Sometimes things just happen. That was one of those times.’

But when she failed to come up again and I knew she must have drowned, I had to decide what to do. How would it be for Neil to know that I had killed his beloved Leonora? And for the twins to know that their grandmother killed their mother? It would be horrific. It would break their hearts. I knew that if they knew the truth it would ruin all their lives.

I waited and waited alone in the boat house for the body to come to the surface but it didn’t appear. I was dazed by the tragedy and at a loss what to do next. I dare not ask for help. Finally I left the boat house, locked its door and went back to the house. Claiming a bad headache I went up to my room and lay on the bed, trying to think clearly but fear and a deep horror had dulled my mind and I lay there in a confused panic . . .

Georgina rubbed her neck, which now ached painfully, and she moved her stiff limbs.

Even today, eight years later, I can still feel the horror and dread that seized me, and with it came the weight of remorse, which almost suffocated me and still does in weak moments. I started to lie, inventing a quarrel with Leonora that ended with her storming out of the house in a temper. Neil was horrified and spent days searching for her until at last he went to the police and reported her missing.

Finally in desperation he decided she had gone back to her parents in America and set off after her.

Then one day I discovered that her body had floated to the surface and while I tried to decide what to do about it, the wretched nanny continued to bombard me with questions – she was definitely suspicious and, when I could bear it no longer, we quarrelled and I telephoned for a taxicab and sent her packing. I shall never forget the look on her face . . .

The awfulness of Georgina’s task suddenly overcame her and she returned the pen to the ink stand with a trembling hand.

‘Finish it tomorrow, Georgina,’ she told herself. ‘That’s enough for today.’

Mr Prendergast had told her to ‘be kind’ to herself and she thought this was what he meant. There was no point in making herself ill. No one else cared how she felt or how much anguish she could bear . . . except Neil. Georgina took the letter and made her way up to his room.

Two days later, when Ida telephoned to ask if she could spend a few days at The Poplars, Georgina’s first instinct was to say no, but Ida explained that there was something wrong with the pipes in her flat and ‘the man’ would be coming on the nineteenth to deal with the problem. It might take several days, she told Georgina, to track down the fault and she would have no water supply during that period. Reluctantly Georgina heard herself agreeing.

Ten minutes before Richard Preston was due to arrive at The Poplars, Georgina began to panic. In some way, the letter she was writing to Ida had made her doubly fearful about the meeting. It was as if the presence of her written confession made her more vulnerable to discovery and therefore Richard Preston could prove dangerous. It was possible, she thought, that the meeting was some kind of trick to force herself to reveal things best kept hidden – a trick conceived by the police. Nothing would surprise her.

Five minutes before Preston was due to arrive, she made a sudden decision and hurried to the schoolroom.

‘Marianne, I want you to sit with me while I talk to Mr Preston,’ she said. ‘Please give the girls some work which will keep them usefully occupied for, say, twenty minutes. Then come down to the study. I don’t trust the man one inch. Oh, and be prepared. When I decide I have heard enough I shall tell him so and say, “Please see Mr Preston out, Marianne,” and you must then immediately stand up and hold the door open for him. I shall know when I have had enough of his nonsense!’