The Woman From Paris (38 page)

Up at the folly Antoinette, Dr. Heyworth, Rosamunde, and David were already rolling up their sleeves and opening paint pots. Tom marched in and announced their arrival with gusto, as if he were an actor stepping onto the stage. They all greeted Phaedra warmly, except David who avoided meeting her eye. Antoinette gave Phaedra
an overall and paintbrush. “You can help Rosamunde with the woodwork,” she instructed. “Make sure you use the eggshell.” She noticed the coolness between her son and Phaedra immediately and wondered what had happened to make them so awkward together. They had been getting along so well.

Tom put on the radio, and they worked away to pop music that Rosamunde likened to savages let loose on drums. Dr. Heyworth was full of joy and chatted happily to Antoinette as they painted the back wall with big rollers. Phaedra and Rosamunde tackled the woodwork together, but Phaedra didn’t feel like talking. She was too aware of David, who was up a ladder quietly painting the ceiling. Rosamunde talked for both of them, giving her opinion on modern music and lamenting the lack of talented singer-songwriters like the ones she had admired in her day. “Music is far too overproduced these days,” she complained. “You see, in my youth we had the Beatles and Marianne Faithfull—nothing can compare to them.”

Once or twice Phaedra caught David looking at her, but he quickly turned back to his task. She missed his banter and the laughs they shared, and suffered a terrible sense of loss. His presence filled the whole room, and as much as she tried to concentrate on her brush and Rosamunde’s dull chitchat, she couldn’t forget that he was ignoring her, and felt hurt by it.

Rufus lay on the grass outside with Basil and the Great Danes, who’d been brought up to join in the fun. The sky brightened, and the rain never came. Joshua and Roberta appeared late morning, and while Roberta helped Phaedra and Rosamunde with the woodwork, Joshua helped David and Dr. Heyworth lift all the furniture back into the middle of the room. Phaedra was aware of Roberta’s coldness towards her, but she didn’t care. She cared only about David and whether or not their friendship had been irretrievably broken.

They finished the first coat by lunchtime. Antoinette had arranged for everyone to eat at her house, including Margaret, and they all threw off their overalls and piled into the drawing room for refreshments.

The celebratory atmosphere continued for all but Phaedra and David, who moved about the room, careful to avoid each other. Margaret asked how their project was going, but when Roberta suggested she come up and have a look, she shook her head and pursed her lips. “I have no wish to see what memories you’ve disinterred, thank you very much. They were fine as they were, buried beneath years of dust and debris. It hasn’t belonged to me for decades.” Then, aware she was sounding like an old sourpuss again, she smiled tightly. “But you must all enjoy it. Arthur would be tickled pink to see it restored to its former glory.”

“He’d be more tickled to see
you
up there,” Antoinette ventured.

Margaret stiffened. “Well, I’m not going to give him the satisfaction, and that’s that.” Antoinette was confused: surely his romantic gesture had been a
good
thing?

She thought it best to place David and Phaedra at opposite ends of the dining table. They had said nothing to each other all morning. For Phaedra, the situation was getting desperate. She knew she’d be leaving for London after lunch. If they didn’t talk before she left, it would be very awkward coming back again. She ate her roast beef and tried to pretend that she was as jolly as the rest of them. She was a good actress, but this stretched her ability to the limit.

After lunch she hastily retreated to the upstairs bathroom. She remained in there for a while, sitting on the side of the bath, head in hands, feeling miserable. But she knew she couldn’t hide all afternoon. As she walked back across the landing she saw George’s room at the end of the corridor. His door was ajar, beckoning her to enter. She wondered whether Antoinette had done any more clearing out since she had last been there. Slowly, she walked towards it, her heart thumping because she knew already that if she found herself alone, she’d begin to look for things—incriminating things that she didn’t want Antoinette to find.

Gingerly, she pushed open the door. The room was empty. She could hear the low rumble of voices from the drawing room downstairs and knew that she was quite safe for a while. She inhaled the
smell of George, and for a moment her heart stalled. Once again she was faced with all his belongings and the false hope that he might suddenly appear from the bathroom, as if he had never gone at all.

She began to snoop about the various trinket boxes that sat on the table at the end of the bed. She didn’t know what she was looking for, and perhaps there was nothing that would make him look bad, but George had been a man who didn’t like to throw things away. He had kept everything: letters, mementoes, memories . . . lots of memories; and it was those that she wanted to erase.

Suddenly, she felt the presence of someone at the door. She spun round and jumped when she saw Roberta, arms folded, leaning against the doorframe. “Sorry, did I startle you?” she asked.

“Not at all.” Phaedra felt the blood rush to her cheeks, making her look instantly guilty.

“Going through his things, are you?”

“Just remembering. Antoinette and I began a couple of weeks ago . . .”

Roberta sighed. “You don’t have to pretend in front of me,” she said coldly. “I already know you’re lying.”

Phaedra was stunned. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re not George’s daughter, are you?”

“Of course I am.”

“I know you and Julius cooked the whole thing up. Trouble is, no one else believes me. That’s because they like you. But if you think for one minute that you’re going to—”

She was cut off midsentence by David. He registered Phaedra’s pale face and jumped to the conclusion that Roberta was being unkind. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

“Phaedra and I are just having a little chat,” said Roberta silkily. “I found her in here going through George’s things.”

“Nothing wrong with that, Roberta,” he said in Phaedra’s defense.

“I know. She’s being very helpful.” She turned to go, then paused and turned round again. “Did you have a good dinner with Julius the other night at Le Caprice?” Phaedra didn’t know what to say. She stood there looking guilty, wishing she could flee. “Josh and I were
there with friends. You obviously didn’t see us. Well, it was busy, wasn’t it?” She gave an insincere smile, followed by a little sniff. “I could see how close you and Julius are. Very touching.”

When Roberta disappeared, Phaedra began to cry. “I feel sick,” she wept. “I came in here for no reason at all. The door was ajar, and I wanted to feel close . . . Roberta thinks Julius and I have concocted a plan to steal money. It’s dreadful.”

David’s heart buckled at the sight of her tears, and he went over to wrap his arms around her. “I’m sorry, she’s got it into her head that you’re an impostor. Nothing we can say will change her mind. Give her time, she’ll get over it.” He pulled her close. “The main thing is that none of us believe her.”

“She was so mean. So I had dinner with Julius. Where’s the malice in that?”

“Was he the one you said was harassing you?”

“Yes.”

“You said you owed him.”

“He’s been so kind. Ever since George’s death he’s taken me by the hand, explaining the will and advising me what to do. I wanted to go back to Paris, but he told me to stay and get to know you all. I’m glad I did. He’s very persistent, but I don’t want to be rude.”

“Look, let’s go back downstairs and forget all about Roberta.”

She pulled away and wiped her face with her sleeve. “Are
we
friends again, David?” she asked solemnly.

He smiled, relieved there was no longer any awkwardness between them. “Of course we are,” he replied.

They returned to the drawing room separately. Dr. Heyworth was at the piano, his fingers moving deftly over the keys, while Margaret held court in the armchair, her eyes misty as the music transported her, and the rest of the party, including Roberta, crowded around the piano, listening with admiration.

Phaedra sat on the sofa next to Margaret, who mouthed, Isn’t this lovely, and patted her hand fondly. Harris brought in a tray of tea and coffee, and Phaedra deliberately ignored David when he sauntered into the room a few minutes later. Had Antoinette been less
enthralled by Dr. Heyworth’s music, she might have noticed the rosy hue on Phaedra’s cheeks and the contented grin that curled David’s lips at the corners, even though the music was sad and up until this moment he’d had nothing to smile about.

“You’re so talented,” Rosamunde gushed when Dr. Heyworth finished playing.

He looked pleased. “I had no choice but to learn piano. It’s my mother’s greatest passion.”

“You know Mother has taken up playing again,” David said, lifting the
Sunday Times
off the coffee table and flopping onto the sofa opposite Phaedra.

“Have you played the piece I gave you?” Dr. Heyworth asked Antoinette.

She blushed, anticipating the horror of being made to perform in front of everyone. “Yes, it’s really lovely. I’ve been practicing, but I’m not very good at it yet.”

“Go on, Mum. Give it a go,” said Tom.

“Don’t feel you have to play for me,” said Dr. Heyworth tactfully. “I didn’t give you ‘Sunset’ to embarrass you.”

“Quite,” said Rosamunde, who suddenly didn’t want her sister showing off her talent. She had heard her play at night and knew how accomplished she was, even though she modestly denied any skill. “Why don’t you play something lively, William?” Rosamunde suggested.

“Righty-ho,” said the doctor. His eyes flicked across to see Antoinette’s relief, and he smiled, pleased that she hadn’t been made to feel uncomfortable. “I’ll play a little jazz.”

“Great, I love jazz,” enthused Roberta. Joshua put his arm around her waist, and she leaned against him contentedly. No one would have guessed that she had only just terrorized Phaedra in George’s bedroom.

“Do you remember that jazz bar I took you to in New York?” he whispered.

“That was our fourth date. How could I forget?”

He laughed incredulously. “You were counting?”

She elbowed him. “Of course I was counting. I didn’t let you kiss me until the fifth.”

David hid his face behind the newspaper, but he could sense Phaedra the other side of it, watching him. He could feel her eyes burning through the paper. Even though their relationship was as hopeless as a bird with clipped wings, he couldn’t help but feel lifted by the fact that they were friends again. Right now nothing else mattered. The bird that cannot fly finds contentment on the ground. It is only when he gazes at the sky and reflects on the limitations of his clipped wings that his soul yearns for freedom.

Phaedra did not want to leave. The thought of returning to London gave her an aching homesickness in the pit of her stomach. Dr. Heyworth drove off after tea, promising to help Antoinette finish the second coat of paint. Kathy climbed into the back of the BMW with Amber strapped into her baby seat, and Joshua and Roberta waved as they motored off down the drive. “You can take Phaedra and me home,” said Margaret to David. “Such a shame you have to leave, Phaedra. I’ve loved having you. I forgot how nice it was to have company. One gets used to living on one’s own.”

Antoinette embraced Phaedra warmly. “You must make this your home,” she said. “You’re a Frampton.”

Phaedra felt David’s eyes upon her as his mother articulated the only reason why they couldn’t be together. “I’d love to make this my home,” she replied.

“But you can stay with
me
next weekend. Or am I going to have to fight a duel with Margaret?” She smiled at her mother-in-law.

Margaret huffed. “I suppose I have to share you, too.”

“I’m flattered you all want me,” said Phaedra, embarrassed by the attention. In the back of her mind Roberta rose up like a gargoyle, and Phaedra shuddered to think of what she might do.

“Well, my dear, you’re rather good company,” Margaret rejoined. “You only have yourself to blame!”

Rosamunde kissed Phaedra. “Well done painting today. We were a fine team.”

“Yes, we were. Still, you’re going to have to finish off on your own.”

“I have Antoinette and William and, of course, David, when he’s not on his tractor.”

“We might be able to have tea in it next weekend,” David suggested.

Margaret rolled her eyes. “Come on, David. Stop dallying.” She whistled for Basil, who scampered round the corner so fast he looked like he was on wheels. “Where have you been? I hope you’re not dirty. I’m not in the mood for giving you a bath tonight.” She climbed into the front seat of David’s Land Rover. Phaedra climbed in the back and waved cheerfully as they drove away. Inside she felt sadness gather around her like fog.

Upstairs she packed her bag. She noticed the clock on the mantelpiece and cringed. The weekend had started off so well but had ended in accusation and fear. She didn’t know whether she’d come back here. She wasn’t sure she dared see Roberta again. Always there remained the thought of Paris, like a bright lighthouse winking at her from afar, signaling safety.

When she came down the stairs, David stepped forward to take her bag. Margaret handed her the red box containing the Frampton Sapphires. “You must take this, I insist,” she said, pressing it into Phaedra’s hands. “Don’t argue with me. I’ll see you next weekend. Drive safely.” The day had exhausted her. She walked stiffly across the hall into the sitting room and closed the door.

“I can’t take them,” Phaedra told David.

“She’ll be upset if you don’t.”

“Then you look after them for me. It’ll be our secret.”

He grinned down at her. “Another one!”

“Yes, we’re collecting quite a few.”

He took the box and opened it. “I’d like to see you wear them.”

“I’d look like a child trying on her mother’s jewelry.”

“You’d look stunning, I promise you.”

“Only in your eyes.”