*
He’d followed Lulu and Bertie across London, struggling to keep up on his rather rickety bicycle. Now he was one of many bystanders on the other side of the street, watching as the police arrived and the ambulance came to take away the blanket-shrouded body.
He gnawed his lip as Bertie escorted a distraught Lulu down the steps and handed her into the car. He could only guess at what had happened, and he wondered if this tragedy would bring an end to his employer’s plans. It was certainly unforeseen – and something he must report immediately.
*
Lulu remembered very little of what happened over the following week. She was aware of Clarice’s arrival, of Dolly’s frequent visits and Bertie’s ordered handling of Maurice’s inquest and funeral arrangements – but she felt as if she was an onlooker in a drama over which she had no control.
It was the eve of the funeral and Lulu was sitting on the window seat in Bertie’s mansion, staring out across the manicured lawn.
‘I thought I’d find you here,’ said Bertie, closing the sittingroom door behind him. ‘It’s my favourite view too, you know. Very soothing.’
Lulu nodded, but she hadn’t really noticed the view at all.
‘I thought you should have this,’ he said, taking an envelope from his jacket pocket. ‘The police brought it back this morning. It’s addressed to you.’
Lulu’s hand was shaking as she took the last letter Maurice would ever write. ‘I can’t bear to read it,’ she confessed.
‘I think you’ll find it gives you comfort. Hopefully it will ease the guilt you feel. It’s a guilt we all bear, you know, so you are not alone in this.’
Lulu took the single sheet from the envelope and, after a deep breath, began to read.
My dearest Lulu,
Please forgive this final selfish act. But I too need to go home. I have yearned for that elusive death which has taunted me for so long, and now have the courage to leave this torturous world and find peace in endless sleep.
Shed no tears for me, darling girl, for I am at last content – and when you reach the tranquil shores of your homeland, know that I have reached mine. Go with my blessing and my love,
Goodnight, sweet Lulu, goodnight.
Maurice
Lulu’s tears fell unheeded as she carefully folded the letter and held it to her heart. Maurice was at last at peace – and so was she. The healing could now begin.
*
Eight painful weeks had passed since Maurice’s death, and as Lulu climbed down from the train she adjusted the hat Dolly had given her to boost her spirits. Dolly had offered to come with her, but Lulu had managed to dissuade her. Yet, as she stood alone on the platform watching the train chuff down the track, she experienced a moment of panic and wished she wasn’t quite so alone.
Silently berating herself for being pathetic, she waited until the smoke cleared, tucked her handbag under her arm and left the country halt. Facing Clarice was going to take nerve and stamina, but face her she must. Dolly was right – it was time to take control of her life and step out of Clarice’s shadow.
Walking down the dusty road she passed the familiar village shops and returned the friendly greetings of people she had known for most of her life. The ancient church was somnolent in the August sunshine, the flower borders of the village green blazed with colour and the pond’s tranquillity was disturbed by squabbling ducks and moorhens. She absorbed the sights, sounds and scents of the village that had been her home for sixteen years, for after today she might never see it again.
The thought saddened her, and she paused for a moment to watch a group of children throw bread to the ducks. Then, realising she was wasting time, she continued on to Wealdon House. She reached the iron gates and, after taking a deep breath, headed for the front door.
Her key turned in the lock and she stepped into the gloomy hall. The house was quiet, its chill greeting her after the warmth of the August sunshine. She pulled off her lacy gloves, touched the hat for luck and headed for the drawing room.
Clarice was in her usual chair, the Labrador at her feet, afternoon tea on the trolley beside her. She looked up and smiled. ‘I expect you’re hungry after that journey,’ she said, ‘but you’re so late the tea is probably stewed by now, and Vera’s out for the afternoon.’
Lulu hesitated before lightly kissing the soft cheek. ‘If it is, then I’ll make more.’ There was no response to her kiss, so she petted the dog and sat down.
Clarice busied herself with the tea things. ‘You look well. New hat?’
‘Dolly gave it to me.’ She set it aside with her handbag and gloves.
Clarice looked disapproving. ‘I might have guessed,’ she muttered, as she passed Lulu a plate of egg-and-cress sandwiches. ‘It’s no doubt very fashionable, but looks more like something the gardener would put over seedlings.’
‘That’s why it’s called a cloche,’ Lulu explained. ‘I think it’s rather fun.’ Her nerves were on edge. She bit into the sandwich, found she had no appetite, and set it aside.
‘I hope you’re planning to stay for the weekend,’ said Clarice. ‘Bertie is calling in for drinks tomorrow afternoon on his way back from a shooting party at the Grange.’
Lulu eyed her aunt guiltily over the teacup. She had sworn Bertie to secrecy, and if Clarice had even an inkling that Bertie already knew her plans, then she would never be forgiven. ‘I don’t know if I can—’
‘Well, of course you must,’ interrupted Clarice. ‘I can’t possibly entertain Bertie on my own, and I expect he’s keen to discuss the commissions with you.’ Her gaze was direct. ‘I understand you haven’t been in touch with him since Maurice’s funeral.’
‘I’ve been busy,’ she mumbled.
Clarice put the cup and saucer down with a clatter. ‘Busy? What can possibly be more important than showing courtesy to the man who not only made you a small fortune, but who took over the whole ghastly business with Maurice?’
Lulu’s pulse was racing, and it took a great deal of effort to meet the stony gaze and remain outwardly calm. ‘I know I’ve been lax,’ she admitted, ‘but I just couldn’t face anyone for a while. I was planning to call him tonight.’
The gaze didn’t falter. Clarice was waiting for a more satisfactory answer.
Lulu licked her lips and decided the best way to approach this was head-on. ‘I had some important decisions to make, but Maurice’s suicide made them even more difficult.’
Clarice’s expression hardened. ‘As you planned to call Bertie tonight, you have obviously reached a conclusion,’ she said.
‘I must go to Tasmania, Aunt Clarice. Don’t you see? I’ll regret it for the rest of my life if I don’t.’
‘You’ll regret it more if you do, Lorelei.’
‘I’m sorry you feel so strongly, Aunt Clarice. But I’ve made up my mind.’
Clarice’s expression softened and she leant forward. ‘Then change it, Lorelei. This is your home, and I deeply regret the ultimatum I made all those weeks ago. You have become the daughter I never had, and I’m so very proud of what you’ve achieved. Stay, Lorelei, please.’
‘I can’t.’ Clarice’s warmth brought treacherous tears and she was finding it hard to see. ‘It’s too late.’
‘It’s never too late, my dear. Send a telegram to Mr Reilly and have done with it. All this has been a terrible strain on your health – on mine too.’
Lulu looked at her in alarm.
Clarice raised an unsteady hand to her chest. ‘The doctor is quite concerned about my blood pressure, you know.’
‘You didn’t tell me.’ Lulu edged forward in her seat, her concern sharp.
‘I didn’t want to worry you, but I had quite a nasty turn after I returned from the funeral, and had to stay in bed for several days.’ She gave a weak smile. ‘Dr Williams wanted me to go into the cottage hospital for a rest, but of course I refused. One is never as comfortable as when one is at home.’
Lulu was horrified. ‘I’m so sor
ry. I never realised how badly all this must have affected you.’ She reached for Clarice’s hands and looked into her face. The shadows under her eyes could be the result of sleepless nights, or of something more sinister. ‘If I’ve been the cause—’
‘It’s not your fault,’ she interrupted. ‘Not really. I allowed myself to get overwrought, and at my age that is never wise.’ She gave a deep sigh. ‘One forgets just how old one is, you see.’ Her demeanour was utterly weary, her voice so soft Lulu could barely hear her. ‘It seems I am sinking into a general decline, my dear. Frightful nuisance of course, but it comes to us all eventually.’
‘Please don’t talk like that. You have years ahead of you if you follow the doctor’s advice and take it easy.’
Clarice shook her head. ‘I doubt it, but I will certainly do my best to remain active for as long as possible.’
Lulu eyed her sharply. There had always been something of the actress in Clarice, and until this moment she had enjoyed rude health, and taken pride in never consulting the doctor. ‘This high blood pressure seems to have come on very suddenly,’ she said thoughtfully.
Clarice lifted a fluttering hand. ‘It’s what happens when one gets old,’ she murmured, ‘and no doubt these fearful headaches are all a part of it.’
If it wasn’t so tragic, Lulu would have smiled. Clarice never had headaches. ‘This all sounds very worrying,’ she said. ‘I’d better ring the doctor. Headaches and high blood pressure are serious matters.’
Clarice made a show of rousing herself as Lulu stood up. ‘There’s no need,’ she said hastily. ‘He was here this morning, and is quite satisfied with my progress.’
‘I’d still like to speak to him – just to reassure myself.’
‘Please don’t disturb Dr Williams on a Friday afternoon,’ Clarice said hurriedly. ‘The poor man works so hard and has little enough time with his family.’
Lulu perched on the edge of the seat again and held her gaze, certain now that Clarice was play-acting. ‘As long as you’re sure the doctor has everything under control,’ she murmured.
Clarice poured another cup of tea, her gaze averted. ‘He has given me a tonic and a few pills to perk me up, but I don’t really need them – not when I have you to keep me cheerful while I recuperate.’
‘I’ll stay for the weekend, but after that it might be an idea to ask one of your friends to keep you company.’
Clarice forgot she was supposed to be at death’s door and sat bolt upright. ‘Why should I do that when I have you?’
‘Because I’m leaving for Australia at the end of the month.’
‘You can’t. You don’t have a passport.’ Triumph lit in her eyes.
‘I had my wartime identification papers. They were enough to get a passport.’ She saw the light flicker and die and felt a stab of remorse. ‘The tickets are paid for, Aunt Clarice. We leave on the SS Ormonde on the twenty-eighth.’
‘We?’
‘Dolly is coming with me.’
At that, Clarice seemed to rally her fighting spirit. ‘I might have known that flapper would be involved in this. Empty-headed fool – she doesn’t have the slightest inkling of what she’s doing by encouraging you in this madness.’
‘She had less to do with encouraging me than you did,’ replied Lulu, who was feeling strangely calm now she knew Clarice had been play-acting.
‘I have never encouraged you,’ Clarice said fiercely.
‘And that’s precisely why I have to go.’
‘But why, Lorelei? Why are you so determined to hurt me like this? Wasn’t Maurice’s suicide enough to dissuade you?’
‘That jibe was unfair,’ she said softly.
‘I was just trying to make you see how important it is you stay here.’
Lulu ached to see the bewilderment and regret in her eyes. ‘I love you, Aunt Clarice, and always will. But if you refuse to talk to me I have no choice but to seek out the truth for myself.’
The colour had gone from Clarice’s face as she stood up. ‘And what if this precious truth you so earnestly seek is dark and ugly and destructive, Lorelei? What then?’
‘A dark, ugly truth is better than a lie, Aunt Clarice. At least one knows where one stands.’
The silence was heavy between them. They were at an impasse, neither one willing to back down, the last gauntlet thrown – or so Lulu had thought.
‘If you go to Tasmania I will disinherit you.’
Lulu could only stare at her in shock. ‘That is your privilege,’ she said, gathering her wits. ‘But as you said before, this has nothing to do with money. It’s more to do with some secret you’ve been holding on to for years. Surely it must be such ancient history that it cannot hurt either of us now.’
Something shifted in Clarice’s eyes, but it was fleeting and, if anything, seemed to stiffen her resolve. ‘Maybe it is to you,’ she said, ‘but to me it is still raw.’ Her faded blue eyes regarded Lulu with weary acceptance. ‘Past sins cast long shadows, Lorelei, and, as no doubt you have recently discovered, they often demand a heavy price from those who invoke them.’ She took a deep breath. ‘My time in Tasmania was not happy – and neither was yours. I am merely trying to save you the heartache I know is waiting for you there.’
Clarice moved away to stand before the French windows. ‘If you go, then you know the consequences,’ she said sadly. ‘I have said my final word on the matter.’
Lulu stared at the rigid back, the determined tilt of the old woman’s head, and knew it was over. ‘In that case I will collect some of my things and leave,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll arrange for the rest to be sent to London and, as I assume the flat is no longer mine, I’ll stay with Dolly until we sail.’
‘You may keep the flat. I have no wish to see you homeless.’ The voice was soft and unbearably weary.
‘Thank you.’ Lulu waited for Clarice to offer at least a crumb of hope that a way might be found to heal this awful breach – but the spine remained rigid, the head turned away.
‘Gwendoline is unstable and probably dangerous,’ Clarice said flatly. ‘She will no doubt tell you things that will destroy everything you believe in – perhaps even threaten your very life. She is quite capable of that, as I’m sure you remember, so be very careful.’ Clarice crossed the room and, without a backwards glance, closed the door behind her.
Lulu stared after her, Clarice’s warning ringing in her head. As she sank back into the chair and burst into tears, she wept not for the lack of love from her mother, but for all she and Clarice had lost.
*
Clarice had shut herself away in her bedroom so she wouldn’t see Lorelei going back and forth with suitcases and boxes. But even the solid old door couldn’t smother the sound of her footsteps on the landing, the click of her door, the opening and shutting of drawers, and Clarice found she was listening to every movement – waiting for that awful moment when the house fell silent and she was abandoned.
Almost an hour had passed when she heard the light footsteps going down the stairs. She opened her door a crack and listened. Lorelei was ordering a taxi, saying goodbye to the dog and collecting the last of her things from the drawing room. Clarice’s regrets were legion. She hadn’t meant things to go so far – hadn’t wanted to banish or disinherit her, just protect her.
‘Protect yourself, you mean,’ she muttered crossly, ‘and your pride. God forbid I should damage that.’ Yet the twin necessities of pride and reputation had been instilled in her since birth. They were all she had left – the things she had fought so hard to keep when it seemed the world was against her. But were they worthy of the sacrifice she was making?
She took a deep breath and banished the doubts. ‘The sins of the older generations lie heavy on the young,’ she murmured, ‘and Lorelei cannot understand that unless she discovers it for herself. Perhaps I have protected her too well, but unwisely.’
Clarice’s soft words echoed in the silent room. Lorelei had proved over the past weeks that she was strong enou
gh to follow her own path in life and overcome whatever lay ahead. It was time to let her go. But oh, how it hurt. How lonely this old house would be without her laughter and youthful company.
She blinked away the tears – they were for the weak and solved nothing. She moved silently along the landing and forced herself to peek into Lorelei’s room. The dressing table was cleared, the bed stripped of all but the eiderdown, and a stack of boxes was piled in a corner. The wardrobe door stood ajar, and she could see the empty hangers and shelves. It didn’t take long to erase the essence of the person who had lived there for sixteen years, but the memory of her perfume lingered – as if awaiting her return.
Clarice closed the door and continued her battle to regain the stalwart strength she had learnt to call upon in such times. She had to believe Lorelei would return – and even if that homecoming was marred by the girl’s new-found knowledge, Clarice would welcome her and try to put things right between them.
The guest bedroom at the front of the house was ghostly in the gathering dusk, with dust sheets draped over the furniture, but it had deeply set mullioned windows, and a clear view of the drive.
Clarice tweaked the curtains just enough to watch the taxi arrive, its tyres crunching the gravel as it approached the front door. She watched as the driver placed the cases into the trunk and opened the door – and drew sharply back as Lorelei looked up. She didn’t want the girl to see her.
As the taxi spluttered down the driveway Lorelei turned and looked out of the back window. Her face was pale in that halo of beautiful hair, her eyes as wide as a startled fawn’s. Clarice would hold that image of Lorelei in her heart until she returned.
Tears rolled unchecked down her face as the taxi drove through the gates and out of sight. She had loved and lost many times throughout her life, and had never known the joy of motherhood. And yet now she was experiencing the agony of losing a beloved child – and discovering it was the hardest loss of all.
Chapter 4
Joe stood on the quayside and watched as the SS Rotomahana steamed in and dropped anchor. She was a regular visitor to Tasmania, carrying cargo and mail and a few passengers over the Bass Strait from Melbourne twice a week.
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