by Liz Fenwick
Mr Hoskine mixes Negronis, and I long to be in the heat of Italy suddenly, away from here and now. But looking at the view I can hardly complain about it. I grab a vivid drink and do what I am known for . . . be the most outstanding hostess. As I kiss the powdered cheek of Lady Fox, I see Tom wink at me. A smile spreads across my face. It is his fault of course. All his fault that I was a society hostess, a Foreign Office wife and a mother. He brought Allan here in the first place.
I don’t quite gulp the drink but dispatch it with more haste than is sensible. Tonight, I’m at least partially off-duty. The handover is complete and until I return to Moscow, I’m free to enjoy my break. As the gin makes its way into my system, my shoulders relax. I will have a good time tonight. My husband has shown he still wants me, and I still have a role to play that is more important than tonight’s dinner. This matters to me even though no one else knows.
I grin and Ralf Venn catches my eye. He matches my expression and I taste the bitter kick of the Campari. His white dinner jacket glows in the evening light and the cut of it is perfection. I have not met many Americans who have their suits made in Jermyn Street. But we are not in the Caribbean and although the sun shines today, his choice marks him out. His wife is well dressed, too. Her strapless gown shows off her long limbs and hourglass figure. It is all a bit obvious and so not what appeals to Allan. I’m not sure why I’m concerned. Allan has always been attracted to the elegant and understated.
‘You have no worry there.’ Tom whispers in my ear.
‘Just what I was thinking.’ I sip the last of my drink.
‘I know.’
I look up at him from under my lashes.
He glances down at my empty glass. I wrinkle my nose at him. The man knows me too well, unlike George Russell. He, unlike these other Americans, had the sense not to dress for a cruise ship in Cornwall.
‘Where’s your drink?’ I ask, noticing Tom’s hands in his pockets. ‘Still pacing yourself?’
‘Gin is not my friend.’
I laugh, remembering. ‘True but I see there is whisky on the table.’
‘I’ll save myself for the wine with dinner.’
I cast him a sideways glance. He grins and wanders away to talk to Eddie Carew. Tom is all out of sorts but looks as cool as anything if you didn’t know him. But I did.
‘Joan, what a glorious evening for a party.’ Anthea, who I went to finishing school in Switzerland with, walks over looking glamorous as ever. ‘To think we were stuck inside last year.’
‘Yes, and the roof began leaking we had so much rain.’
She chuckled. ‘Gosh, I can still remember the hangover.’
I nod. The rain had stopped by two, the sky had cleared, and I’d ignored the roof, dancing as if my life had depended on it.
‘Well on the way to this year’s hangover.’ She raises her glass. ‘These are lethal but so delicious.’
‘That’s the point.’ I hold up my empty glass. ‘I seem to be in the need of a refill.’
‘Me too.’ We walk towards the house. ‘We never learn, do we.’
I shake my head, but wonder are we destined to repeat the same mistakes, or does that only apply to alcohol? My mother had used drink to numb her life. Was that because it had been in her control or was she just a victim? I didn’t want her to be a victim, but the other option wasn’t any better. I, however, am in control of my life and as I hear the gong sound, I am reminded I am in charge of this evening and nothing is going to ruin it, not even the thought of a hangover tomorrow morning.
53
Diana
4 August 1962, 6.30 p.m.
Everyone except Mrs Hoskine and Mary, the daily help, were out in the garden. Diana had checked before she entered the kitchen to take a picture of the cake. It would go on the cover of the book she was making for Daddy. She pressed the shutter, flicked the switch at the front, then one on the back and pulled the sheet out. Her glance kept darting to the clock, watching the second hand until she could open the back and see if the picture had come out well. Flapping it as she’d seen Mr Venn do, she then took a close look. It was a success.
Mrs Hoskine handed Mary a plate of food to take outside. It had prawns in it and Diana hated them. They felt funny in her mouth. When Mrs Hoskine checked the oven, Diana grabbed a piece of bread and her picture of the cake.
Once up in her room she placed the photo on top of the chest of drawers and searched for paper and glue she’d brought up from the office in preparation. She carefully folded the unlined sheet in half and centred the photo on it before applying glue. While that set, she peered out of her window. Gribben Head baked in the sun. Below, everyone looked beautiful – especially Mummy. Diana picked up her camera and leaned out the window and took a picture then went through the steps until she could take out the photo. With a quick glance to be sure it had worked, she left it by the first one then dashed back down the stairs. She would have to take the pictures quickly so that she could give the book to Daddy today as a surprise.
Before heading outside, she took a picture of the dining room table from where she could see Daddy’s name on the place card. His seat looked right down the table out to the garden. Mummy had made the table look beautiful with all the flowers. The smell of the roses and the honeysuckle was wonderful. Tucking the picture into her pocket, she stood at the French windows, watching. Mummy was chatting to Mr Carew. Uncle Tom was speaking again to the man who arrived this afternoon. Diana had heard he was American. They turned to look out at the bay and Uncle Tom pointed at Gribben Head. The light was changing. The headland was bright one minute but then dull when a cloud covered the sun.
Daddy stood next to Lady Fox and Mrs Venn. They were talking about the weather. Diana smiled. Everyone talked about the weather, even in Moscow – except there it was normally about the snow and here about the rain. Mr Venn stood with his back to Daddy, taking a drink from Mr Hoskine’s tray. She crept out onto the lawn and stood by a planter. From this angle she saw the side of Daddy as he smiled. She took that picture. He was enjoying his party.
As carefully as she could she slipped around to take a picture of Mummy. It was just as Uncle Tom and the American man joined her and Mr Carew. Diana pointed the camera and captured Mummy laughing with Uncle Tom on one side and the American on the other. Mr Carew had turned so Diana only had the back of his head.
Someone was playing the piano in the drawing room. Inside she found the vicar looking at the painting of a boat. She didn’t want to take his picture, so she slipped back outside. From this angle at the curve of the house, she tried to include everyone in the photo with the bay in the background but it didn’t work. She would need to try that from the windows in Mummy’s room.
Daddy saw her and winked. Mr Venn frowned at her. Diana wondered if he was cross she was using the camera. She didn’t know why she thought that, but she did. Before going upstairs, she went into the study and took two quick photos. One of Mummy looking across at Daddy and the other one of Daddy looking all serious and handsome while he spoke to Uncle Tom. From this vantage point no one realized she was here.
She sat still on the top of the desk just watching the way people moved when they spoke to each other. Many were having fun because there was a lot of laughter, but some, like the American man and the Venns, wore different expressions. She couldn’t think what they meant but they weren’t party ones like everyone else’s. Mummy would be disappointed if people weren’t having a good time.
She returned to her room to put all the photos together in the book. It didn’t take her long to assemble it. The only thing missing was a picture of her. That would require someone else. She frowned. It couldn’t be Daddy as that would spoil the surprise. Mummy would be too busy, as would Mrs Hoskine’s. Maybe Uncle Tom could. He had looked like he knew about the camera this afternoon. She searched but couldn’t see him. There was still time. She would find him later. Right now, she would report everything in her diary. But first she went to see what was happen
ing. Her doll sat watching too. She twisted it open so the other dolls could enjoy the party.
Dear Diary
I’m looking out of my window and I can see Mummy chatting to her friend from finishing school. Mummy says I will go to university if I want to. She had wanted to but her father wouldn’t let her. This made Mummy sad. She didn’t say so but I could tell. Right now she looks so beautiful, more beautiful than anyone else. Daddy is talking to the Venns, Mr Venn is standing awfully close to Daddy and Mrs Venn has her hand on Daddy’s arm. He doesn’t look happy. He should be happy. It’s his birthday party. Most people are laughing so that is good.
Down below I saw Uncle Tom walk back onto the lawn and again he is talking with the American. This one is staying at Boskenna. Both he and Uncle Tom are watching Mummy. I’m not surprised. She glitters like the diamonds around her neck. I want to be just like her when I’m older and I want a husband as handsome as Daddy.
The dinner gong sounds and people start moving inside. Mrs Hoskine said she will come and find me when it is nearly time for the cake, but I might go downstairs in a bit and sit hidden under the small table by the door to the dining room. It’s my favourite hiding spot. Mrs Hoskine found me there earlier this week. She said I was growing so fast that by Christmas I’d be too big to fit there anymore.
She put the pencil down, put the diary away, and tiptoed downstairs.
54
Lottie
4 August 2018, 6.45 p.m.
It was easy to forget the intervening years as Alex fell into step beside Lottie leaving his grandmother’s house. The key difference was that her hand wasn’t in his. The longing for what they had in the past hung in the air currents created by their swinging hands, caressing their fingers. It would be so easy to take his hand in hers, but she wouldn’t. There could be no going back. Ten years and so much more stood between them. Besides, he might not be thinking these same things at all. It was most probably in her mind alone. A cool breeze blew up from the bay and she shivered despite the warmth of the evening sun.
Only a few cars remained in the car park and a family walked past them up the lane carrying baskets and blankets. She turned towards the sea. Alex hesitated. His hand brushed hers. Her breath caught. But one long stride gave her the distance she needed to keep a clear head.
‘Why the visit to my grandmother?’
She turned to him. Here she was thinking about their past and he rightly was firmly in the present. ‘I had a few questions.’
‘Oh.’ He raised an eyebrow.
‘Nothing important.’
‘Sure.’ He continued walking by her side. ‘Is your mother OK?’
She laughed. ‘Good question. I don’t think she is.’
‘Do you know why?’
‘I can make some guesses – like being here is painful – but it’s all speculation.’ She stared at him, debating whether to say what was puzzling her. ‘Why is my grandfather relying on you and not me?’
‘We’ve always been close since I worked for him.’
She remained silent.
‘Well, he’s been like a father.’
Lottie winced. She knew how much the loss of his own father had meant to him and how his grandmother had been grateful for Gramps’ kindness and quiet guidance. Her question had been spiteful. ‘Sorry.’
‘George mentioned that when you last visited, there was a boyfriend in your life and he may have said that he monopolised you.’ He took a step away.
‘Did he?’
Alex nodded. ‘So where is the boyfriend?’
‘As I mentioned, he isn’t my boyfriend any more.’ She looked out to sea, suddenly thinking of Thailand.
‘That will please George.’
She laughed. If he only knew. She longed to tell someone what an idiot she had been, but silence was best. No need to confirm what people thought of her already. She walked onto the sand and picked up a shell.
‘Did my grandmother help?’
She walked to the water’s edge. ‘Yes, she confirmed that Gramps had been here that weekend my grandfather died.’
‘So?’ He shrugged. ‘You’re trying to play detective . . .’
‘No but Gran said she killed someone.’
‘I seriously doubt that she meant it literally.’ He didn’t look at Lottie when he said that but picked up a piece of sea glass and handed it to her.
It was vivid green-yellow like a peridot, but with the pitted finish of the tumbling sea. She rolled it between her thumb and forefingers before holding it up to the sky. ‘Why do you doubt it?’
He laughed. ‘I told you what I thought earlier.’
Frowning, she said, ‘Yes, you did but people do kill people . . . all the time.’ She bent to pick up a mussel shell and placed the glass where the animal would have been, picturing a pendant.
‘Can’t argue with that.’ He began walking along the water’s edge. She followed, studying his footprints in the sand. The angle of the sun casting shadows in the indents.
‘Look, the more I think about it, I know Gran, she wouldn’t say it unless it was true.’ But why would she say anything at all? Whatever happened, happened a long time ago. Lottie stopped walking. Forgiveness.
‘Has she always told the truth?’ He threw a rock into the water.
She took a deep breath. ‘No, I’m sure she didn’t and it’s clear Gran has lied to Mum about George, and that raises questions.’ She was certain that the words in the diary were written because her mother was in pain and kids always think they are somehow at fault, be it divorce, a death or lack of a father, as in Lottie’s own case. ‘Why would she lie when she was dying?’
‘Can’t answer that.’
She glanced at her watch and turned towards the house. This wasn’t important now. She wanted to be with Gran. ‘See you later.’ She marched to the steps and she didn’t turn around when she heard Alex behind her. Out of breath when she reached the hallway, she stopped. Her mother was facing Gramps. Silence hung in the air. Lottie looked between the two of them.
‘You killed my father.’ Her mother glared at Gramps. The round table stood between them.
‘Mum!’
‘He was here that weekend,’ she huffed. ‘The police records show his statement.’
‘How the hell did you get access to that on a weekend?’ Alex asked, coming to stand beside Lottie.
She sent him one of her looks. Lottie knew her mother hadn’t reached this point in her journalistic career without making contacts or by taking no for an answer. But she couldn’t work miracles.
‘Just because Gramps was here didn’t mean he killed your father.’
‘They lied.’ Mum placed her clenched hand onto the table. ‘My mother and George both lied.’
Lottie looked at Gramps, who wobbled while his cane remained steady.
‘People lie all the time.’ Alex stepped forward.
The telephone rang.
‘Do something useful and answer it.’ Her mother looked at Alex before taking another step towards Gramps. Lottie darted between them and placed a hand on her mother’s arm.
‘Let’s go and sit like civilised people and speak calmly.’ Lottie led them into the big drawing room where she could engineer more space between everyone. Did Lottie see sweat on her mother’s brow?
Once she’d settled Gramps, who looked at her with worried eyes, she studied her mother again. She wouldn’t sit and instead paced in front of the fireplace.
Alex walked in with the tea tray. ‘I thought this might help.’
It was after six and gin would have been wonderful, but Alex was right. ‘Thanks.’
‘Was it one of those nuisance calls?’ Gramps’ voice was weak.
‘Something like that.’ Alex handed him a drink. ‘It was Pat Treneer.’
George frowned, and her mother hopped to her feet.
‘He’ll call back later.’ He placed the tray down on a side table.
‘I would have spoken to him now.’ Her mother blew air
out through her pursed mouth. ‘Someone came in to visit Pat just after I arrived at his house earlier.’ She gave Alex a searching look before walking towards Lottie. ‘Something isn’t right about my father’s death.’
Lottie looked away. Taking a deep breath, she schooled her features. She could do this – she looked at her mother.
‘Has your grandmother said anything more to you?’ Her mother took a step closer.
Lottie looked down thinking about Gran’s words, then said, ‘I think Gran has said everything she is going to say.’
‘Yes,’ her mother sighed, and her shoulders slumped.
‘Now is the time to just be with Gran.’ Lottie gave her a sympathetic look and Mum grabbed her hand and held it.
‘Yes, you’re right. I’ll head up to her now.’ She let go of Lottie’s hand and Lottie watched her go before closing her eyes. She hadn’t lied, she simply hadn’t told her everything. Opening her eyes, she saw Alex helping Gramps to his feet. He gave her an encouraging smile. At least she had pleased someone.
55
Lottie
4 August 2018, 7.30 p.m.
‘I’ve just had a chat with the nurse and she’s just leaving. We’re to call her if we need her.’ Lottie stopped next to the record player. ‘What was Gran’s favourite?’
Gramps turned to her. ‘Any song by Nat King Cole.’
‘The nurse mentioned Gran can still hear so . . .’ Lottie swallowed a lump. ‘I thought . . .’
‘I’ll bring it up.’ Alex took the player and Lottie pulled out an old LP.
‘You two go on ahead.’
‘Can I help you, Gramps?’
He wiped his eyes. ‘I just need a moment.’
Lottie looked back over her shoulder and her feet slowed on the stairs. She knew the time to say a final goodbye was near. Alex set the record player up on the dressing table and she gave him the LP. She went to the bed taking Gran’s hand in hers, it was so cold. Lottie swallowed. ‘Hello, Gran. We thought we’d bring some music up to you.’
