The Woman From Paris (35 page)

“Hello, Phaedra,” she said happily, trying not to think about the vision of the two of them running down the lawn holding hands. “When did you get here?”

“Yesterday,” Phaedra replied. “I’d just had it with London. I couldn’t bear it another minute. It’s incredibly beautiful here; you’re so lucky to live in the countryside every day of the week.”

So it had been Phaedra, after all, Antoinette thought, quelling the uneasiness before it rose again. “When George was alive, I spent most of the week in London. Now, looking back, I can’t imagine how I managed it. After he died I had an impulsive plan to spend more time there, but then I discovered the garden, and now the thought of going back to the city fills me with horror. It’s peaceful here.”

“What are you up to?”

“Ah, my new project. Come and have a look.”

“David says you need help.”

“I’d love some help. Dr. Heyworth is coming tomorrow, and Tom and Joshua will be here tonight.”

“How lovely. The whole family.”

Antoinette grinned; she couldn’t tell the girl that they were all coming down to save her from Margaret. “More hands, lighter work. You can all get stuck in tomorrow morning.”

“Who built it?”

“I have no idea,” Antoinette replied, leading her inside. “It’s very romantic, isn’t it? Someone must know, surely. But I don’t know who to ask.”

“I love a mystery,” said Phaedra.

“I fear this will always remain mysterious. At least we can restore it to its former glory.” She sighed. “Shame walls can’t talk.”

They all had lunch together at the big house. Phaedra noticed Rosamunde’s new hairstyle immediately. She looked softer with it down. When Phaedra complimented her, Rosamunde looked bashful. “I’ve worn it off my face for most of my life. I feel now is a little late to start something new.”

“It certainly isn’t too late. You’re young,” said Phaedra.

“You’re very kind, my dear.”

“Age is irrelevant. I feel character is much more important. A person can be a young eighty-year-old or an old twenty-year-old. It’s all about what’s on the inside.”

“I agree,” said David.

Rosamunde wriggled with pleasure. “In which case, Phaedra, you’re a very old and wise thirty-one-year-old, although you don’t look a day over twenty.” David caught Phaedra’s eye and smiled covertly as her cheeks caught fire. Antoinette couldn’t help but notice. Now she had been alerted to their closeness, she saw every secret glance and grin that passed between them. She didn’t want to. Their growing affection for each other was beyond the normal behavior of siblings and made her feel distinctly uncomfortable. It was just as well that Phaedra was going to spend the rest of the weekend with Margaret.
In future, she must stay here,
Antoinette thought to herself. It wasn’t healthy for them to spend so much time alone together. Nothing good could come of it.

That afternoon when Dr. Heyworth came for tea, Rosamunde was up at the folly, sitting on a chair beneath a blanket, while Antoinette, Phaedra, and David were tearing down the ivy that covered the outside walls. Mrs. Gunice had given him a Tupperware box of shortbread and a basket filled with cake, sandwiches, a couple of thermos flasks of tea, cups, plates, and cutlery to take up in his car. Dr. Heyworth’s heart swelled at the thought of spending all afternoon with the woman he loved, and he accelerated up the hill to get there as quickly as possible.

“Ah, William,” said Rosamunde excitedly when his car pulled up beside the blackthorn bushes. She waved and he waved back, his
mouth extending into a wide smile. “What have you got there?” she asked, watching him lift a big basket off the backseat.

“Tea,” he replied.

As he strode up the track to join her, a gust of wind whipped his panama clean off his head. “Oh dear!” he exclaimed.

“It’s jolly windy up here and chilly when the sun goes behind a cloud,” said Rosamunde. He put the basket down at her feet and hurried off to catch his hat before it was picked up and carried off again.

“Ah lovely, Mrs. Gunice’s shortbread,” she muttered, poking around in the basket.

“You’re doing a terrific job, Lady Frampton,” he called out as a long tentacle of ivy fell onto the ground like a dead octopus.

“I’ve got a couple of helpers,” she replied.

“Many hands make light work,” said Rosamunde. “I’d like to help myself.”

“But you mustn’t,” said Dr. Heyworth kindly. “How is the patient feeling today?”

“I’m so much better. I walked up here very gently, and now I’m nice and snug under this rug.”

“Can I pour you a cup of tea?”

“That would be very nice, thank you.”

He lifted the thermos flask out of the basket. “Tomorrow I shall come prepared to get my hands dirty,” he said.

“Maybe I can help, too.”

“I’m sure your sister can find you something to do that isn’t too strenuous, don’t you think, Lady Frampton?”

“She can clean the windows,” Antoinette called down from the roof.

“Why don’t you come and have a cup of tea, Lady Frampton, while I continue pulling down the ivy. You must be in need of a rest, surely?”

Antoinette smiled at him. “Coming from a doctor, how can I refuse?” She laughed and carefully descended the ladder. As she got to
the bottom Dr. Heyworth was there to help her. She took his hand and jumped the last couple of rungs onto the grass. “Thank you.”

Dr. Heyworth rolled up his sleeves. “I can’t rest while you’re doing all the work. It doesn’t sit well with me.”

“Then I will have a cup of tea with Rosamunde and watch the three of you doing the job for me.”

She laid out the rug that Mrs. Gunice had put on top of the basket and sat down. David and Phaedra were up on ladders pulling the ivy off the pediment that rested above the portico. It was tough going, as the weed clung obstinately to the stone. They used trowels to ease it carefully away, mindful not to damage the building beneath. They chatted contentedly, laughing every now and then, and even Rosamunde felt the energy between them.

“It’s like they’ve known each other all their lives,” she said to her sister.

“Yes,” Antoinette replied edgily.

Rosamunde narrowed her eyes at her sister’s tone of voice. “They’re very keen on each other, aren’t they?” she whispered, turning her attention back to the portico.

Antoinette winced. “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing, just that there’s a certain frisson between them. But maybe they are just great friends. They’ve certainly hit it off.”

“You think they fancy each other, don’t you? Well, they can’t do anything about it. They’re related.”

Rosamunde could see that her sister was getting agitated. “Oh really, Antoinette, you have nothing to worry about. David is a sensible boy.”

“I know, but I can’t bear him to be unhappy. Unrequited love is a horrible thing.”

They both sipped their tea and watched the group slowly bring down all the ivy. Suddenly, David cried out in excitement. “Look! There’s writing in the stone!” Dr. Heyworth climbed down his ladder to get a better view. Phaedra wiped the remaining bits of stem away. There, clearly carved into the stone, were the words:
Dum spiro ti amo
. Followed by a date.

Antoinette got up and put her hands on her hips, gazing up at the engraving in astonishment. “I don’t believe it,” she gasped. “A clue to our mystery. What does it mean? I bet you know Latin, Dr. Heyworth!”

“I certainly do. ‘While I breathe, I love you,’” he replied.

“Oh my, how romantic!” Phaedra exclaimed.

“And the date, Dr. Heyworth?” Antoinette added.

“1954.”

“So not as old as we thought.”

“When things are ravaged by nature, they look much older than they are. Buildings can be weathered in a matter of years,” said Dr. Heyworth knowledgeably.

“Well, who do we think built it?” Rosamunde asked.

“I imagine a man built it for the woman he loved,” said David. “Who lived here in 1954 but Grandpa?”

“He would have been in his twenties . . . you don’t think he built it for Margaret?” said Antoinette in amazement.

“Why would she have let it go to ruin like this if it had been built especially for her?” said David.

“I can’t imagine,” Antoinette replied, pondering. “I mean, it can’t have been built by anyone else but Arthur.”

“And he wouldn’t have built it for anyone else but Margaret.”

“Her family came from Bath, if I’m not mistaken,” Antoinette added. “Hence the Bath stone.”

“That would make sense,” said Dr. Heyworth.

“Phaedra, you have a mission this weekend,” said Antoinette excitedly. “You’re the only one who might be able to get the story out of her.”

“I’ll do my best,” Phaedra replied, climbing down.

“Let’s all have a cup of tea to celebrate,” David suggested heartily.

“There’s cake, biscuits, and egg sandwiches,” Rosamunde informed them. “Mrs. Gunice has once again prepared a feast!”

*   *   *

That evening David escorted Phaedra to his grandmother’s house at the other side of the estate. Phaedra had visited the last time she was at Fairfield, but now the clematis was out and the house looked even more beautiful in the pink light of dusk. She parked her car by the hedge that separated the front of the house and the garden, while David pulled up on the gravel, leaving Rufus inside. He wasn’t intending to stay long.

Margaret was overjoyed to see Phaedra. She hurried into the hall from her study with a wide smile and a warm embrace, which she threw enthusiastically around Phaedra. David didn’t think he’d ever seen her in such a good mood. “Thank you for bringing her, David. Before you go, can you put her case upstairs in the yellow room.” David did as he was told and carried the case upstairs. It wasn’t very heavy. She hadn’t brought much.

He tried to ascertain from her face whether Phaedra was happy or anxious at being left alone with Margaret. She grinned at him playfully and he couldn’t tell whether she was putting on a brave face or was genuinely pleased to be there. As he left he felt bereft, like a boy who’d just let all the party balloons go. He returned to his car and to Rufus, who thumped his tail with pleasure at the sight of his master, but the thought of returning home alone made David’s heart heavy with regret.

“Now, my dear, what can I get you to drink? I have a particularly good Sauvignon if you’d like wine. I’ll have a glass of sherry,” said Margaret, leading her into the sitting room.

Phaedra ran her eyes over the pretty room. It was harmoniously square, with high ceilings, tall windows, and a wide honey-colored marble fireplace above which hung a portrait of Margaret as a young woman. She had been quite a beauty. Decorated with flair in pale yellows and blues, with antique wooden furniture and big, soft sofas and armchairs, the room had a warmth that had more to do with the positive energy than the central heating. “What a stunning room,” she exclaimed truthfully, settling onto the sofa.

“I can’t take credit for the decoration,” Margaret replied. “Antoinette
did it up when she lived here. I’ve done very little to it since. It’s lasted rather well, hasn’t it?”

“I think it’s really lovely.”

“Good, I’m glad you like it. Antoinette has a thing for yellow.”

“It’s a happy color.”

“I agree, it is a happy color. Now, let me call my girl.” She pressed a button that sat in a silver holder on the sofa table. A few moments later a cheerful young woman appeared at the door in a blue-and-white-striped apron, her brown hair scraped back to reveal a round, freckly face with big blue eyes. “Ah Jenny, this is Phaedra. What did you say you wanted to drink, dear?”

“I’ll have a glass of white wine, please,” Phaedra replied.

“Lovely, and a sherry for you, ma’am?” Jenny said to Margaret.

“As always,” Margaret retorted briskly.

“Lovely, back in a tick.” Jenny disappeared.

“I think she’s had too much yellow,” said Margaret with a grin. “Much too merry.”

“Is she always like that?”

“Always.”

“Lucky girl.”

“I suppose it’s better than having someone who mopes about in a sulk all the time. And she’s a very good cook.” Margaret sat down next to Phaedra. “Isn’t this nice,” she said with a sigh. “I have you all to myself. You know, they’re all fighting for you over at the big house.”

“I’m sure they’re not,” Phaedra replied modestly.

“Oh, they are. You’ve brought something magical into the family. I can’t put my finger on it. But you have a special light, Phaedra, and we all want to bask in it.”

“Oh really, I don’t deserve such a compliment. You’ve all been so kind to me, I feel so welcome.”

“I think Antoinette rather wished she had a daughter, and as for me, well, I only had George. I’d love to have had a little girl.” Her face darkened a moment. “But that was never going to happen.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be. I have a granddaughter now, and it’s just lovely. Ah Jenny, come in.”

The girl handed Margaret her sherry, and she took a sip. Phaedra tasted the wine; it was perfectly chilled.

“David told me about your visit to Murenburg,” Margaret said.

“It was very healing, I think, for all of us.”

“The boys were lucky that you went with them.”

“I was pleased to go. I needed to see the place where George was taken and to let him go. I feel at peace now. I mean, I miss him, and I think of him a great deal, but I don’t feel that terrible ache. I think it’s because I accept his death now. It’s happened; there’s nothing I can do to bring him back. What I can do now is cherish his memory and continue with my life, all the better for having crossed paths with him for a while.”

Margaret’s face glowed with admiration. “You’re an old soul, Phaedra. I’ve been talking to Reverend Morley about you, and he agrees. You’re wise beyond your years. You know, when you spoke to me up in Antoinette’s spare room, something magical happened. No one had ever spoken to me like that before. You see, I hadn’t visited George’s grave. I hadn’t wanted to accept that he was dead. It was too much. Then, that day, I went with Joshua, and something frightening happened. I stumbled across George’s grave, and I was suddenly so ashamed because I didn’t even know where it was. My son, I didn’t even know which gravestone was his. I haven’t even had anything to do with what’s written on the official one. I’ve left it all to Antoinette. But I
should
have had a say. And then I felt a rush of sorrow. I thought I was having a heart attack, but you made it all so clear when you spoke to me. I hadn’t grieved. I mean, how could I have grieved when I hadn’t even accepted his death? With you I was able to talk about him and how I felt. It was such a release. I felt a different person afterwards.” Her smile wobbled. “I put a bouquet of yellow flowers on his grave yesterday. I thought yellow, being a happy color, would be nice. Reverend Morley has been so kind.”