Jean Grainger Box Set: So Much Owed, Shadow of a Century, Under Heaven's Shining Stars

by Jean Grainger

  Juliet finally allowed the tears to flow down her cheeks. She could now let go the emotions held so closely in check all this time.

  Ewan held her as she cried and when she had no more tears, he wiped her face with his handkerchief and said, ‘Well, the first time I proposed, I roared at you, and now when I do it, you won’t stop crying! Are we getting married or what?’

  ‘Yes. Yes please.’ She giggled through her tears.

  Epilogue

  Spring 1943

  Lili played on the grass as Richard and Solange sat on a rug in the garden in the early sunshine. She leaned her back against him, and he stroked her hair.

  Mrs Canty had made them laugh earlier by announcing they were ‘like a pair of young wans, always pawing each other.’ They put up with her good-natured teasing because they both knew that she was secretly thrilled. The realisation that they loved each other was blissfully easy in the end. Though they could never marry, as Richard was already married, neither of them cared. They were married in everything but name and Richard had even taken to calling Solange Mrs Buckley whenever he could.

  James was slowly coming to terms with his wife’s death. He had a long way to go but the initial outpouring of grief had abated. For the first few weeks, they never left him out of their sights. They had buried Ingrid in Dunderrig, and James went to the grave most days. Eddie had planted some flowers and they often took Lili there with her little watering can. The whole village came out for the funeral, which surprised Solange.

  Richard had explained, ‘Ingrid was James’s wife, and James is one of their own. No matter what she did or didn’t do, she was one of the Buckleys of Dunderrig and that means something around here.’

  JAMES SAT BY THE sea at Barleycove, remembering the times he had laughed and talked here with Ingrid. He took her last letter out and unfolded it carefully. He’d read it so often, it was tearing on the creases.

  My dear James,

  If you are reading this, I am no longer here. I want to tell you that I’m sorry for everything, for lying to you, for using you and your beautiful home, and for putting you all in such danger. I never intended it to turn out this way. As I’m writing, Lili is asleep on our bed beside me and if I could have one wish, it would be that I could be a good mother to her and a good wife to you. You deserve so much more than me, but no matter what happens, please know that I love you and I love Lili more than anyone or anything in this whole messed-up world. I know you will be a wonderful father to her, and between Solange and Richard and the Cantys, she will have a lovely life here in Dunderrig.

  Goodbye, my precious James.

  Your loving wife, Ingrid.

  He could never reconcile the woman he loved with her treachery, and his father had advised him not to try. He told him to remember her as she was with him and with Lili and forget the rest. ‘We adapt to our environments,’ he said, ‘and people do things in extreme circumstances that they would never normally do. Ingrid got caught up in something, and she paid the ultimate price. Let her rest in peace.’

  He was taking his father’s advice these days on most things, and though it was very hard and some days he struggled to get up, he knew that it was due to Solange and his father and the ever-present Cantys that he could keep going.

  His father and Solange were so close these days, and James was happy for them.

  Juliet’s room was dusted and aired, and the sheets regularly changed, ready for when she came home. Mrs Canty still refused to put currants in the buns because Juliet hated currants, even though everyone else liked them. The possibility that Juliet might never see Dunderrig again was not one any of them gave voice to. Though he had no reason to think so other than his intuition, he was sure she wasn’t dead and everyone around him clung to his belief. He missed her in a way no one could understand but going through everything in the past few years without her, had made him stronger in lots of ways. He’d always been led by Juliet but now he was a different person. He wanted to tell her that she had been right about Edith.

  Edith came down for Ingrid’s funeral, and everyone remained very dignified though Mrs Kelly nearly did herself an injury trying to get a look at her at the top of the church. Even Mrs Canty remained stoic in the face of her old adversary. He was so proud of Solange and his father that day. They shook hands with Edith and thanked her for coming. As James watched his mother get into Otto’s car after the funeral, he knew for certain he would never see her again. Otto was in prison, awaiting trial, as was most of their circle. To his surprise, seeing her go, all he felt was relief.

  As he looked out over the azure sea, he knew he was getting better. A part of him would always love Ingrid, but he knew he would survive.

  He drove back to Dunderrig wanting to be in time to bathe Lili and read her a story before bedtime. They had moved back into the big house as the cottage held too many memories, and besides, it was easier with Lili. He had converted one of the outhouses into a studio and kept himself very busy with commissions. Lili loved Dunderrig and ran everyone ragged. Her delighted cries of, ‘Daddy, come home!’ whenever he walked in were the high point of his day.

  Passing through the village, he saw the Cork bus offloading passengers and produce for the shops. As the bus pulled away, two figures were left standing. The woman was pointing something out to the man and he had his arm protectively around her shoulders.

  James turned the car and pulled up alongside them.

  ‘Do ye need a lift?’

  SOLANGE AND RICHARD HAD convinced the Cantys to sit down outside and have a cup of tea, though neither of them was comfortable doing so. Despite being in their late seventies, they both worked all day every day. Richard and Solange tried everything to get them to take a holiday, or even a day off, but they always resisted. Eventually, Solange realised that Dunderrig was their home and the care of the Buckleys their purpose as they saw it, and to make them leave it, even for a few days, would only upset them. Eventually, she stopped trying. Instead, she employed a young lad from the village to help Eddie with the heavy work, and a lady came twice a week to help out with the laundry and the cleaning. Mrs Canty grumbled that it wasn’t done properly but everyone, including herself, knew she needed the extra pair of hands.

  They turned to look up the avenue at the sound of an approaching car.

  ‘Ah good, James is back, I’ll just get another cup.’ Mrs Canty went to get up.

  ‘God almighty, woman, will you sit down! He’s big and hairy enough to get his own bloody cup, not have you running around after him like he’s three years old,’ bellowed Richard, mock annoyed.

  Solange was pouring milk into a small tumbler for Lili, who was happily munching on a freshly baked bun. No one noticed that James had two passengers in the car until he pulled up in front of the door and shouted out the window, ‘There better not be currants in those buns!’

  The car door opened, and Richard and Solange turned at the same time to see her standing there in the sunshine – beautiful and radiant and beaming from ear to ear. Beside her, in RAF blues, was a tall, good-looking man.

  Richard ran to her, scooping her up in his arms as if she were a child again.

  ‘My darling girl…you came home. I was so worried…I thought we’d lost you.’

  When her father finally let her go, Solange held Juliet so tight she nearly choked her, tears pouring down her cheeks. Mrs Canty was as giddy as a two-year-old, fussing about food and sheets, while James held Lili in his arms. Richard pumped Ewan’s hand, ‘Thank you, thank you for bringing her home to us.’

  ‘No problem, sir,’ replied Ewan. ‘I always promised her we’d be together in Dunderrig, but we just got a bit delayed.’

  ‘Who dat, Ganda?’ Lili asked Richard, pointing shyly at Juliet.

  ‘That, Lili,’ Richard told her as he picked her up in his arms, ‘is your Auntie Juliet. She’s a very bold girl for going off and not telling her Daddy where she went.’ He squeezed his daughter with his fr
ee arm. ‘She has spent her life putting grey hairs on my head, but I’ve never been so happy to see anyone.’

  Eddie waited his turn as the family crowded around Juliet, all talking at the same time. Eventually, she spotted him and went to stand beside him. Everyone was fussing about cups and glasses for the champagne that Solange had miraculously produced.

  ‘What was it I taught you that was so useful?’ he asked quietly, the question was still on his mind since the last letter two years earlier. ‘Was there much call for gardening where you were?’

  Juliet put her arms around the man she always saw as her granddad and whispered in his ear. ‘Not gardening, no, but I was glad you taught me to shoot.’

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  ALSO BY THE AUTHOR

  Chapter 1

  Scarlett set the alarm on her new cream Mini Cooper. It emitted a satisfying beep as she crossed the underground parking lot of the Examiner Building. She felt a surge of pure joy. For the first time in her whole life, everything was perfect. She looked great, an expensive new wardrobe saw to that, and she knew that she was unrecognisable from the insecure girl she had once been. The elevator doors opened and she stepped in. The young cub reporter from the sports desk nodded, and then stared at the floor. She smiled to herself. She didn’t intend to be intimidating but she was now senior staff so the kid probably didn’t know what to say to her.

  As the elevator ascended to the fourteenth floor and the editorial suite, she had to remind herself once more that this was really was happening. Her years slaving for Artie on the Yonkers Express were behind her and here she was, a senior political correspondent for the Examiner, one of the biggest nationals in the country.

  She glanced at her iPhone. It was odd that Charlie hadn’t texted; he usually did, to check that she had gotten up. He was always gone by 5 a.m. on the nights he could stay, but last night he couldn’t make it. She understood. In his position, his time was rarely his own. She smiled as she thought of the private messages he was sending her on Facebook last night while he was supposed to be deep in discussion with the representative of a powerful lobby group for tax reform on a video conference call. Ron Waters was a crashing bore according to Charlie, and a Republican through and through, so he was never going to vote for Charlie or his party anyway, but he had to be seen to show willingness. He promised he was trying to get her some face time with the guy, though, for another high profile Examiner piece.

  The elevator door opened and the bright, modern, busy Newsroom buzzed in front of her. Hundreds of screens flashed images, and lots of reporters, IT people and administration staff seemed to teem constantly from all directions. She breathed deeply, almost inhaling the atmosphere and didn’t miss Artie and his chain-smoking ways one little bit. She made her way with enthusiasm to the office of Carol Steinberg, the editor in chief.

  Scarlett could hardly believe she was heading into her eighth month of working here, the time had flown by and her star was definitely on the rise. The piece she had done on the extremist Islamic mullah on the Lower East Side was garnering a lot of attention. Her pieces on Charlie were also getting her a lot of column inches, much to the chagrin of many of the other journalists in the city. Carol’s text saying ‘Get here ASAP’ had come through when she was driving into the office anyway. She was looking forward to the meeting. The urgency of the text suggested some exciting development. Scarlett knew that Carol had a reputation as ball-breaker, that she intimidated almost all of the staff, but Scarlett admired her. She had to be tough to get where she was and one day Scarlett intended to hold a similar position.

  Was she imagining it or did the noise in the office, usually so deafening, suddenly drop to a murmur? The political team were standing together at their corner by the bank of flat screen plasma TVs. She wasn’t imagining it; they had all stopped talking and were staring at her. They must be really ticked off about the mullah story, she thought.

  She pushed open the opaque glass door of Carol’s office and entered the sumptuous surroundings. The TV beside her desk was live paused, and Scarlett instantly recognised Charlie’s handsome features, stilled in mid-sentence.

  ‘I’m assuming you’ve seen this?’ Carol’s voice was quiet but lacked her usual warmth.

  Scarlett was nonplussed, ‘No, is this from today? I haven’t seen…’

  Carol interrupted her by pressing play on the remote. Charlie was unshaven and tired looking. He looked as if he’d slept in his shirt. His familiar voice filled the office.

  ‘Words can’t express my regret. I have offended my party, the good people of this city who elected me, and most painfully of all, I have let my family down. I feel deep shame and embarrassment at my reckless and unprofessional behavior, and though I don’t deserve any special favours, I would ask you, ladies and gentlemen of the press, to restrict your interest to me and to leave my family out of this. They are innocents in this whole thing and are suffering enough at this time. Thank you.’

  Charlie turned away and went back into the offices behind him in a hail of questions and flashing cameras.

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Scarlett’s voice cracked. ‘What happened?’

  Carol gazed at her with thinly veiled fury.

  ‘Last night Charlie Morgan was in a video conference meeting with Ron Waters, the Republican senator. Morgan was sending him some data to support a point he was making, but he inadvertently sent him a message of an explicit sexual nature, clearly intended for someone else. The message also mentioned this newspaper by name. To add insult to injury, the message went on to outline how boring and stupid Morgan thought Waters was. Waters immediately reacted and exposed Morgan, who has, about an hour ago, admitted that he is having an affair with a journalist, the person for whom the message was intended. In addition, he has told the world who that journalist is.’

  Scarlett felt nauseous. Blood thundered in her ears. This wasn’t happening, it couldn’t be. Charlie would never do anything like that to her. He couldn’t, he loved her.

  ‘I took a chance on you, Scarlett. You are only twenty-six, very young to hold the position you did.’ Scarlett heard her use of the past tense and every fibre of her being prayed that this wasn’t happening.

  Carol went on, her voice icy, ‘I appointed you over others who have more experience, and who felt they deserved it more than you. I thought you had something, that’s why I convinced the board to take you on. I’m at a loss for words. How could you throw everything away, everything you’ve worked for, and more to the point, how could you have dragged us into this mess with you? We pride ourselves on the highest standards of journalistic integrity here at the Examiner. You have let us down, very badly. To have an affair with a politician for someone in your position is to relinquish all moral and professional authority.’

  Carol’s tone conveyed nothing but disgust. ’Your in-depth interviews with him that we printed have made us look as foolish and corrupt as you are. But to be involved with a married politician, especially one whose unique selling point is his position as a family man, something you wrote about with such empathy… words escape me, Scarlett. I’m so disappointed in you. I thought you were so much better than this. Get your things now, rather than coming back for them, and try to get away without the gathering press outside seeing you leave, though they are already circling the wagons.’

  She paused, and then added coldly, ‘And Scarlett, if you give any interviews about this I’ll drag you through every court in the country. Do I make myself clear?’

  Carol got up and without a backward glance left the room.

  ‘There she is
! Scarlett! Scarlett, over here! Just turn around! C’mon Scarlett …’

  Scarlett emerged from the car and pushed her way up the steps to the front door of her brownstone, blinded by the incessant flashing of cameras as she pushed through the heaving mass of bodies. Every hack in New York was out in force, circling like vultures. News anchors smugly did their pieces on camera down the street. The fact that the target was one of their own had obviously made it even more tantalising for them. Many of them resented her growing profile, and felt she was too young and had come out of nowhere, so they were thrilled to see her crumble. No such thing as loyalty in this business, she thought, while trying to keep her face immobile.

  She fumbled for her keys in the bottom of her new Prada handbag as the reporters jostled and pushed to get closer to her. Her red hair was escaping from the chignon she had hastily tied in the car, and she could feel the make-up slide from her face as she began to sweat. Despite her best efforts to look calm and collected, she was cracking. She couldn’t find the damn key, and her hands began to shake badly as she gritted her teeth, determined not to cry, refusing to show any weakness. They’d love that. Not that anything could make this situation any worse, but to have her tear stained face splashed all over every tabloid and gossip show in town would be the final straw.

  ‘Come on Scarlett, just one shot. At least this way you get to look good!’ There was a collective cackle.

  Would she have been any different if it was one of them? If she was to be honest, probably not, except that salacious sex scandals were not really her thing. Mercifully, she finally found the key, and despite her shaking hands, managed on the third attempt to get it into the lock. She quickly slipped inside and slammed the heavy door shut, leaning her back against it, adjusting her eyes to the relative gloom of the hallway. Relief flooded through her. Everything was as she’d left it this morning. The highly polished mahogany staircase gleamed, its snow white carpet runner fluffily breaking the austerity of the architecture. The house smelled exactly as it had done, of lilies and cleanliness, an oasis of serenity.