The Flower Girls (10 page)

“Remind me to try and get some growing nearby.”

“I will.” She looked up at him, enjoying the warmth of his smile. It seemed wrong to feel this glow when her sister had died a horrible death. Like a black cloud across a blue sky, she felt her happiness fading away. She charged a little ahead of him, almost jogging down the path. In the deep valley there was a narrow stream bubbling over rocks. She turned; he was close to her so that he almost collided into her.

“Don’t be sad, Poppy. You have to live your life.”

He’d seen through her. It should have made her feel uncomfortable that he’d no problem reading her but she didn’t mind at all.

“Guilt, I suppose,” she admitted. “I’m here, I’m fit and well and…” Best not say happy because that was too much. He need not know that much of her happiness stemmed from being with him.

He changed the subject. “The path goes up a little, and then when we break from the wood we go into a meadow—the meadow leads into the village. Would you like to meet my aunt and uncle? I think you should.”

“Why?”

“Well if either of them calls and I’m not at home… You do intend to finish your job don’t you?”

“Of course, if you want me to.”

“I suddenly find I have a deadline. My agent’s breathing down my neck. He doesn’t seem to care what’s happened.”

“That’s agents for you… Okay, let’s meet them. These are Edwards’s parents, I take it.”

“Afraid so.”

* * * *

Just as he’d previously told her, The Donningtons lived in a house in the village. It had been a schoolhouse and was a long low building. There was a paved area behind railings at the front but no garden.

It was a long time before someone came to answer the bell. Seth had said there must be no one at home and they were about to turn away when the door was opened. A woman stood inside, tall and slender, neck-length dark brown hair in a stylish bob. She was wearing well-cut slacks and a light tan cashmere sweater, a Chanel scarf around her neck. Stylish, aristocratic-looking—good cheekbones, however just the wrong side of being beautiful.

“Oh,” she said. “It’s you,” she added after they had paused.

“Yes.” There was a chuckle in Seth’s voice.

A pair of bright blue eyes gave a swift glance at Poppy. “I suppose you’d better come in.”

“That would be friendly,” Seth said.

“I was outside,” she said. “Gardening.”

In those clothes,
Poppy thought,
I think not.

It was beautiful inside,
if you like polished wood and open plan,
Poppy thought. The kitchen was enormous with a huge table that would easily seat ten. There was a lounge with comfy armchairs and an enormous sofa. The chairs were all different but their shades matched. There were two steps down into the lounge and Mrs. Donnington led them there.

At the back of the lounge were French doors—these were open and even from the glance that Poppy gave it she could see that the garden was extensive.

There was fuel burner in the lounge, it was lighted. “Aunt Caroline, this is Poppy, Jasmine’s sister.”

The woman gave Poppy a sharp look. “I see,” she said. Then as if someone somewhere had turned on a hospitality switch she marched up to Poppy, hand outstretched. It was chilled but she gave Poppy a firm, albeit brief handshake. “It’s dreadful what happened to your sister,” she said coldly.

“Yes,” Poppy murmured. “It is.”

“I’ll make some tea.”

Poppy gave Seth a glance; she had an urgent need to be gone from this house. They weren’t welcome here, that was obvious.

“Is Robert not home?” Seth asked, seemingly oblivious to the cold atmosphere.

“No, he’s in London. Some business he had to attend to and then Edward asked him to dine with him and Susanna so he’s staying the night down there. The tea won’t be long; why don’t you show Poppy the garden?”

Glumly, Poppy let Seth escort her outside. It really was an enormous garden. Beautifully designed. Three huge yew trees were at the very end of the garden, beyond which were open fields. The garden borders were filled with spring flowers—daffodils, hyacinth, forget me not; Poppy liked the way the flowers beds were predominantly blues and yellows, the colors blended perfectly. There was no sign of anyone having been working in the garden. Poppy had the strongest suspicion that Mrs. Donnington had seen who was calling and decided to ignore them. Perhaps Seth’s constant ringing of the bell had worn her down although she didn’t seem the kind of woman who would let anything, or anyone, wear her down.

“It’s very beautiful, tranquil even,” she said.

“Yes, although Caroline isn’t keen. A small manor house would suit her more—but Robert is less snobbish, I suppose. Caroline has always been different from my mother.”

He had never spoken of his mother, although Poppy knew she’d left his father. She might have wondered what it was all about but she wasn’t going to ask him. It was too personal. They hadn’t that kind of relationship. Friendship certainly and if she wanted more than that she was never going to admit it to anyone but herself, especially not now.

Caroline’s authoritative voice summonsed them back into the house. Tea and dainty cakes were set out on the large kitchen table.

“Do sit down, Poppy.” Caroline indicated a chair with a wave of her hand. Without being asked, Seth took the chair at the head of the table. There was a chair between them. Caroline went and took a chair next to Seth—it was subtle the way it was done but Caroline had created a distance between them and Poppy. Fortunately Poppy wasn’t bothered about what Caroline Donnington thought or did.

“How’s your book coming along?” the woman asked.

Seth spooned sugar into his teacup before answering. “It’s finished, Poppy’s typing it for me. I have to take it to London by the end of the week. My agent isn’t into my emailing it, or mailing it. He wants to talk to me about stuff. I think he already has a couple of offers. He also probably wants to know when the next book’s coming. Something of a slave driver is our Arthur.” He smiled, looked across at Poppy to include her. She snagged a cake; it was one of those delicious cupcakes smothered in pink icing. She didn’t think Caroline had made the cakes herself but after taking a bite, mentioned how delicious they were.

“Woman in the village,” Caroline said.

“I must pay her a visit.”

“Yes.” Caroline turned to Seth once more. “The wedding plans are coming ahead. You do have the date in your diary I hope.”

“Sure,” Seth confirmed.

So, she gleaned, Edward’s wedding to the wealthy Susanna was not in the distant future but obviously close by. It niggled at her. Poppy couldn’t understand why it would do that. After all, Edward Donnington wasn’t the man that Jasmine saw in Manchester. But she had
seen
Edward, of that Poppy was certain. He knew too many of her secrets not to have been very friendly with her. She imagined that wouldn’t have gone well with Caroline. There was a lot she wanted to say and ask, but she refrained from doing so. The police had interviewed Edward anyway, and probably Caroline Donnington as well. They would have asked lots of people in the village about her.

Aware of something, she looked up from her plate. Seth was staring at her quizzically. He raised an eyebrow as if to ask a question. Caroline was droning on about the wedding. She had a particularly annoying voice. As she paused, Seth said abruptly, “Well I’m sorry, Aunt Caroline, we really have to go, things to do. Are you ready, Poppy? We need to get back before it gets dark.”

“Did you walk here?” Caroline asked, surprised.

“Of course—through the wood, not along the road.”

“Well I suppose if you like that sort of thing. Do
you
like that sort of thing?” she demanded of Poppy.

“Yes I do.”

The woman gave a snorting kind of laugh. “Unlike your sister then.”

Chapter 13

It wasn’t a cold dank day, although Poppy thought it should have been. There was a bright sun that even warmed the small medieval church. The stained glass windows sparkled, shedding myriads of color on the mellow stone.

It was grim. There was just Seth, the Carrington family and herself. She’d thought that out of respect for her nephew, Caroline Donnington would have come but of course she didn’t.

Probably had respect for no one but her own,
Poppy thought.

When the police came and said they were releasing Jasmine’s body she was thrown into confusion. What would have Jasmine wanted? Planning your funeral wasn’t something twenty-something’s were into. It was Seth who suggested the family plot in the churchyard.

Poppy thought that Jasmine would like that. She would be there amongst generations of Sandersons. She would have enjoyed the connection. It didn’t matter that her marriage had become a sham, she was still, when she was murdered, Jasmine Sanderson. Poppy agreed. But she hadn’t anticipated that there would be no one there. The vicar hardly knew Jasmine and waffled on sanctimoniously about God and re-birth. Poppy could tell he thought that Jasmine, with her horrible death, would never be seated in heaven. There had to be a darker place waiting for her.

It was Seth who gave the proceedings tenderness. Poppy had read the lesson but when he stood he read, without reference to a paper, a favorite poem of Jasmine’s—Christina Rossetti’s “Remember”—
“Remember me when I am gone away…”
as if anyone who’d known her would ever forget Jasmine. Poppy tried to fight back tears but they came, sad and lonely. Her body didn’t heave with sobs; there was just this horrid sad melancholy.

Later—after she’d lain a wreath of spring flowers and Seth his of pale cream roses by the side of the grave—they went back to the house. Mrs. Carrington had laid a table with sandwiches in the morning room; hot coffee was quickly brought. Seth indicated that the Carringtons stay and eat with them. Poppy was glad of their presence. Their glumness seemed appropriate and when Mrs. Carrington gave her shoulder a brief squeeze, Poppy felt she could easily burst into those heaving sobs she’d avoided at the church.

“They’ll never find out, will they?” she said to Seth when the Carringtons had gone.

She could tell he knew what she meant; they would never discover who had murdered Jasmine.

“I don’t know, I don’t think we should give up hope that they will. Sometimes these things take an awful long time.”

“But if it were random…some horrid man giving her a lift…” Poppy spread her hands.

“You know it had to be more personal than that.”

“I don’t know anything.”

Seth came to her and then folded her into his arms. “You’re brave; you know that…” he murmured against her hair. “We can get through this.”

“Yes…” She rested her head against his chest.

Oh, Jasmine,
she thought, dripping tears onto his crisp white shirt,
why did you not stay safe and happy with this man, why did you chase something different…

Later she wondered out loud why the police hadn’t attended. Seth said they had—the younger detective. He’d sat at the back of church and stood away from the graveside. The police did that to see if they could spot anyone strange or see anything that might give them a clue to Jasmine’s killer, but of course they probably hadn’t anticipated that no one would turn up.

* * * *

Seth’s book was finished, he’d been to London, and there was no longer any need for her to stay. She contemplated returning to the States but now wasn’t the time to make that announcement. Besides she’d not decided what she would do. She felt as if she were in limbo and wondered if she would ever feel normal again.

“I have to leave soon,” she said.

“You do?”

“Of course, I can’t stay here. I have to find work, a place to live…”

“You can live here,” he said.

“I can’t do that.” She blushed, put down her head in case he read how much pleasure the idea of never leaving gave to her.

“I don’t know why not but whatever you do don’t rush, take your time. This has been a dreadful couple of months, you need to recuperate.”

“I’m fine,” she replied and smiled at him.

“How about we go on holiday? I own a small villa in the south of France; the weather will be perfect this time of year.”

“You and I?”

“Why not? The villa has three bedrooms and quite frankly I’d like to get away for a bit.”

“It isn’t grand?”

“It isn’t, I assure you.” He stood, strolled nonchalantly towards the window, stared out for a mere second or two and then came back, standing over her. “It’s where my mother lived, when she left here. It belonged to her father. He lived there when he retired and when he died he left it to her. When she ran away she ran there. There was someone she knew still living there. A childhood friend, they got together. But she didn’t run away with him, rather my father drove her to leave. He could be—
difficult
.”

Her thoughts turned to Jasmine, thinking this was something else she would have liked. Married to a man who not only lived in this beautiful house but had a villa in the sunny south of France. No wonder her sister had talked herself into loving this man. He was everything she’d ever dreamed about, but dreams were often not reality. He was no playboy prince, but a man happy to hide away from the world. The only adventure he could offer Jasmine would have been that in his books. She sighed. Poor Jasmine, chasing the unachievable and then becoming involved with a man who…no…she couldn’t even think that. The silver fox hadn’t killed her. It was a random killing—of that she felt oddly certain.

“Do you think we should?” she asked, holding her breath.

“Of course. It’s just what you need.”

“What do
you
need, Seth?”

“The warm sun on my back and the blue Mediterranean.”

“All right, but when we get back…”

“Sure. It’ll be good because you’ll have time to think about what you want to do.”

Yes, stay with you. And a holiday together will make things even more difficult.

Yet she couldn’t resist temptation.