by Helen Goltz
Holly came through the front door after her run feeling supercharged, not to mention excited by one-third of the new garden being completed already. But that’s when she hit a brick wall – or rather an ice wall: Alexander.
He stood, arms folded, just inside the door, waiting for her. He looked handsome for a dead guy; tall, domineering, dark and brooding.
‘You can’t go out with him,’ he said.
Holly breathed out, looked around and frowned. ‘Sorry, what?’
‘The double date… you can’t go out with that delivery guy-cum-gardener,’ Alexander said, again with a nod towards J.J. in the front yard.
Holly looked out as well.
‘Why not? He seems like a nice guy, he clearly looks after himself,’ she said, watching the muscles flex in his arms and legs as he squatted to move a very large pot plant, ‘and if Luke can speak for him, that’s a good enough character reference for me.’ She moved away from the window and into the kitchen to get a glass of water.
Alexander made a hmph sound.
Holly returned with her glass of water and looked through the window again. ‘So exciting, seeing it come together, isn’t it? It’s going to look great.’
She noticed Alexander hadn’t said a word about the garden despite staring out at it. His gaze was exclusively reserved for the workers, J.J. in particular.
‘So what don’t you like about J.J.? Do you know something?’ Holly asked, her attention still focussed on the front garden activity.
Alexander shook his head. ‘How could I know something? I just met him, too, and he’s alive.’
‘Well, you knew something about the history of that necklace and whoever has it now is alive.’ Holly finished her glass of water in several long gulps, and spent much longer looking at J.J. than she normally would, partly to stir up Alexander.
She turned to him. ‘If you don’t know anything about J.J., then one might think you were jealous.’
‘Ha!’ he scoffed. ‘That’s ridiculous. I’m married, and dead.’
‘Exactly,’ Holly said and, giving him a smile, she returned her glass to the kitchen, took the stairs two at a time to the shower, and turned back in time to see Alexander still looking out the window with a distinct frown on his brow as the new garden evolved.
The Sergeant dies… again
Sebastian Cartwright the Third was charming. If she didn’t know better, Holly might have thought he was a stand-in for Santa Claus at Christmas. He was portly, well-groomed, dressed in a tweed suit and had white hair with a matching white beard. Abby, the librarian, must have briefed him and before Holly could finish introducing herself, he was shaking her hand vigorously.
‘If only we had more young people interested in exploring history, my dear,’ he said. ‘You are most welcome. The microfiche is expecting you!’
Holly thanked him with equal enthusiasm.
‘I’ll just finishing opening up and help a few customers, but let me know when and if you want my help or want to reminisce,’ he said, with a wink. ‘Well, I’ll reminisce. You, of course, weren’t born before the nineties, I imagine.’
‘Correct, Mr Cartwright!’
‘Please call me Sebastian, everyone does… except for Abby who likes to use my full name. But I secretly think she wants me to reciprocate and call her Lady Abby of the Village by the Sea.’
Holly laughed. ‘That does suit her.’
‘It does indeed,’ Sebastian agreed.
‘Thank you, Sebastian, I would like to pick your brains, but no hurry,’ Holly said, as several people came through the door and an elderly lady made her way to the reception desk. With a wave, Holly ventured to the same microfiche reader she had used during her last visit; she was a creature of habit.
As she waited for it to warm up, her phone beeped with a message. For a moment, she expected it to be Alexander, forgetting that he hadn’t conquered that technology yet. It was from Juliette. Holly saw the first line and held her breath.
Got an update on your necklace. I think your source is onto something. The Bellerose family of Paris have a pearl and diamond necklace insured. They got it valued a few years back, that’s how I found the record. Tell you more at the weekend. Fancy a trip to Paris? Jx
She typed back: Wow, this is big! Can’t wait to see you and hear more. Thanks, J. Hx
The timing was perfect. Holly was due to give her first report to Esther on Monday of next week, and she was going to have to throw herself heavily into the research for the next few days to have something to present. Juliette’s first visit, the social weekend, Alexander’s research and now the garden had put her slightly behind… not to mention her ex-husband’s visit and the day required to get back on her feet.
She opened her notes and found the date and article she was up to last Monday when researching Alexander’s story. She started searching for it again on the microfiche.
‘Let’s get to work,’ she said, coaching herself. ‘Lots to be done.’
Alfred would be pleased to have Luke back at the nursery. It was always the way. Traditionally, mid-week at How Does Your Garden Grow? was quiet, but of course today, when Luke and the boys were on a job, it seems the whole village needed plant supplies. It was nearing 11 am, so he expected him back at any moment.
As Alfred saw off another customer, and left the two young ladies at the checkout to finish the orders, he saw a classic old car – a Riley – turning into the nursery car park. He knew the driver and this was one customer he was pleased to see. Alfred waited and raised a hand in a wave. Esther looked equally pleased to see him as she returned his wave and rolled up her car window. He’d always been a bit sweet on Esther, and he suspected she felt the same, but they had both lost the loves of their lives and felt too eminently sensible to tempt fate by seeking out another.
He was also a great admirer of her choice in vehicles – a classic 1959 Riley Two-Point-Six, 4-door saloon. The car wasn’t a great success in its day, but it looked like a mighty classic now in its green duotone colouring of Shannon green over leaf green, its bodywork preserved to perfection.
Alfred moved towards the vehicle and opened the car door for the handsome woman inside, who was but a few years younger than him.
‘She’s looking grand, the old girl,’ he said, admiring her car.
‘And I’m feeling it!’ Esther joked, taking the compliment for herself.
Alfred laughed. ‘The car looks good, too,’ he teased. He offered his hand to assist her out of the car, and Ester accepted, grabbing her basket from the floor opposite as she exited.
‘One owner, and it only gets driven here, to the shops, and to church on Sunday, so it should be in mint condition,’ she agreed. ‘Busy morning, clearly.’ She noted the car park traffic. ‘I’m after a few new herbs for my herb garden… the coriander doesn’t seem to like me.’
‘I wouldn’t take it personally. Coriander is very temperamental. Care for a cup of tea first? I’m long overdue for a break,’ Alfred said.
‘Love one.’
Alfred led the way. The nursery had a lovely tea room for staff and their guests – a greenhouse with caffeine.
‘I hear a romance has kindled between Holly, the young lady at Findlater House, and Luke,’ Esther said, placing her bag at the foot of a chair. She took a seat as Alfred put the kettle on and found some cups.
‘Ah, I wish it was that simple,’ he said. ‘Luke’s fallen for Holly’s best friend, Juliette. Might be a good thing. At least she doesn’t live in the village yet, so he’s not likely to send another lass running from here.’
Esther laughed. ‘He’s a good catch, that boy. You know that I’ve hired Holly to do some work for me?’
Alfred turned to face her. ‘You did mention that, along with the fact she was single, which I dutifully passed on and will continue to spread the word. I’m glad you have Holly on the job. Your sentimental family pieces should not be lost to history.’ He placed a milk jug and sugar bowl on the table.
‘How
do you know that’s what I’ve hired her for? I might have hired her to type up my memoir.’
Alfred laughed. ‘The memoir you keep threatening to write?’
Esther smiled. ‘Yes, that memoir.’
‘Sorry about the mug of tea, the teapot went missing. I suspect Luke hid it to stop me lingering in here drinking the whole pot,’ Alfred said.
Esther laughed and accepted the mug of tea from him with a nod of thanks.
Alfred continued: ‘I’d like to get my hands on your memoir – a mighty fine read that would be, too. But Luke told me about Holly’s business line so I guessed that the necklace would be a logical business proposition.’
Esther nodded. ‘I thought it was worth one more go to try and retrieve it. I have a catch-up with her on Monday. I hope she won’t be as disappointing as all the others… but I feel positive about this young lady.’
Alfred sat opposite her and was about to shake some biscuits out of a packet when Esther held up her hand.
‘I’ve just baked. I was bringing you some of my shortbread,’ she said, reaching into the basket.
‘Ah, make my day!’ he said, sitting back. Returning his thoughts to Holly, he said: ‘She has been here a minute and already she’s got Luke hitched to her girlfriend, scored a job from you, and hired us to landscape her yard. I think she might be a go-getter. Strange she’s staying in Findlater House on her own, though. Did she mention the ghost to you?’
‘No, but the strangest thing… She kept looking at the chair beside her as we spoke – as though it was occupied and she was including someone in the conversation. Do you believe the Sergeant is still there? In the house?’
‘Well, if he is, she’s tamed him, too,’ Alfred said, and shook his head in wonder.
Holly’s father would have called it a conspiracy; her mother would have said it was a mystery and the librarian, Sebastian, suggest it was a time in history best left buried. For Holly, it was a tragedy. That’s what any untimely death was and the Sergeant’s death was definitely premature.
Sebastian took a deep breath.
‘You have to understand,’ he said, ‘it was a different time then. There have been a lot of battles that soldiers fought because it was their duty… they didn’t question their orders, that’s not their role. If your subject…’ he stopped to look at the name on the top of Holly’s page, ‘… Sergeant Alexander Austen was a soldier in Northern Ireland, then he had a job to do, like it or not.’
‘I don’t think he liked it,’ Holly said. ‘His wife Meghan certainly didn’t, she had relations there. But he wants…’ she stopped short, realising what she said, ‘I want to find out how he died. His descendants are caught up with mine and I was hoping to give some closure to his wife.’
‘So, she’s still alive?’ Sebastian asked.
‘Yes. Not living here, though.’ Holly didn’t mean to imply that Meghan was looking for answers but she didn’t want to correct that, either.
Sebastian nodded and studied Holly. ‘Well, those news clippings won’t tell you much. When did you say the Sergeant died?’
‘It was 1972… almost five decades ago,’ Holly said.
‘Mmm… Give me an hour or so. I know someone in military records,’ Sebastian said, tapping his nose.
‘Really?’ Holly said, brightening. ‘Thank you, Sebastian.’
He rose from the edge of the desk where he had been leaning. ‘Don’t thank me yet, lassie, I might be as useful as a hip pocket in a singlet. Let’s wait and see if I can turn anything up.’
He wandered off with an air of purpose about him and Holly felt excited. She returned to the news clippings in front of her from the time when Alexander was killed. There wasn’t much in national news, but the local papers ran a number of stories, given Alexander and Meghan were part of the community. She called up another story.
BELFAST, Northern Ireland, April 10 – Two British soldiers were killed today in Belfast during an upsurge of Irish Republican Army violence. Lieutenant Robert McIntosh, 27, of Surrey and Sergeant Alexander Austen, 29, of Seafield, died in separate incidents.
Lieutenant McIntosh was on patrol when struck down by bullets fired by a sniper believed to be hiding in a nearby warehouse. He was dragged away conscious and taken to hospital but lapsed and could not be revived.
Sergeant Austen was undertaking foot patrol when a series of random bombs went off in the vicinity. On his way to respond, Sergeant Austen came up against opposition in a tunnel and died from a stab wound inflicted at close range. The matter is under investigation.
The deaths bring the total of British Army dead to 58 since the current troubles began in Ulster in 1969. The overall death toll stands at 302.
The Official wing of the I.R.A. took responsibility for Lieutenant McIntosh’s shooting.
Sergeant Austen resided at Findlater House with his wife of two years, Meghan. He will be laid to rest this Friday at 10am at St Joseph’s.
Holly read back over the details: A stab wound inflicted at close range. Alexander must have seen who did it, surely? Why the mystery? Why not just admit that he was taken out by the opposition, the enemy?
Holly continued to scroll through the clippings until she came to the funeral story. There was a photo. Not a great photo, but clear enough to see that Alexander, or maybe Meghan, had drawn a crowd. Meghan was all in black, of course. But even from the dark photo, Holly could see how beautiful and frail she looked. She was being supported by an older couple on either side… her parents, by the look of it, although the photo caption only identified her as the bereaved widow. That was that. With one swift stabbing, Alexander was gone and her life had changed.
So why hadn’t she been back? No reminiscing, or was it too painful? Or was she angry?
Holly continued to search for mentions of Alexander or the investigation outcome, but there were only a few small lines about three months later, advising that the investigation was closed. Why?
It didn’t take Holly long to find that there were terrible deaths on both sides – innocent people killed in bombings, random attacks, and crossfire. And for everyone that was killed, retaliation was sought. She didn’t know who was right or wrong… perhaps both, or neither. Holly sighed. It was complex and not something she could understand in one day, maybe not ever. But she did know one thing; she had to isolate Alexander’s death and just concentrate on him in a vacuum; the questions being why did he die and how did he die?
She moved away from the microfiche to a working bench in the library and opened her laptop. Holly took a stab in the dark. She put into the search engine the date of Alexander’s death and searched for other deaths in Belfast that same day. A few came up in her searches and she scanned the context, but there was nothing that seemed related, or was in the same area. She went to British records to find out what was now in the public domain… she had access! Declassified files that fell under the thirty-year rule were available.
She checked her notes: Alexander died in 1972 so information relating to his years of service should be online for this period. Time to dig!
Hearts abound
Astrid Bellerose’s boyfriend of one year, Timothée, called it the Hitler Channel, not the History Channel, because of the large volume of WW2 content, especially Hitler documentaries. To date, Astrid had shown very little interest in that era in history, but he was obsessed by it. They had met at the museum, at a touring exhibition of the Russian Fabergé Eggs. As Astrid’s family and several other notable French families contributed financially to the museum, they were always on the patron guest lists for these events, so Astrid wasn’t surprised that her own necklace’s heritage would fascinate her boyfriend, who she called Timo.
Yes, her great-grandfather was a German soldier, but after the war he had married her great-grandmother, whom he had met during the German occupation of France. She knew little of the story except that he moved to France to be with her and it wasn’t an easy life for them; they were not accepted for many decades. Her grand
mother was born in Paris; her mother was born in Paris and married her father, Mathis Bellerose; and she was born in Paris, too. The German side of the family had no real bearing on her and, like many young people of her generation, she didn’t share the collective guilt from their great-grandparent and grandparents’ generation – be it French or German. Why should she? She wasn’t even born then.
But her boyfriend had shown a great deal of curiosity in her Tender Heart necklace when she had worn it tonight to his debut; he was a violinist with the Orchestre de Paris. She knew it was risky to wear it – it was worth a fortune – but what was the point of keeping things hidden in a box with their beauty not seen or shared? She would only wear it on special occasions and his debut was certainly one. Sitting beside his parents and brother, and watching Timo debut on stage surrounded by France’s best musicians, she was overwhelmed.
Later, after the concert and celebratory drinks with major orchestra sponsors (of which the Bellerose family was again present), Timo had asked her about the necklace and Astrid had shrugged off Timo’s surprise when she mentioned her great-grandfather had presented it to his bride in Berlin after the war and before they settled in Paris. He knew enough about her history to know she had some German ancestors.
‘So, it was created by a German designer?’ he asked. ‘Or is it stolen fortune… Nazi loot?’ She remembered his eyes widening and the interest in his voice, as if it were a great mystery.
Astrid became defensive. ‘It is no such thing. As if my great-grandfather would present his bride with a stolen necklace!’
