‘Ivanka never hurries if you send her on an errand,’ said Della, looking at the clock. She would be at least another twenty minutes coming from the post office.
‘Here,’ he said, and produced a packet of mints from his pocket.
‘Thank you,’ Della said. He surprised her then by dropping heavily onto the chair opposite.
‘Del, do you ever think, “What the fuck am I doing?”’ he said, with a loaded sigh.
‘In what way?’ asked Della, noticing the dark circles under Jimmy’s eyes.
‘Is the grass greener on the other side, do you think?’
‘Sometimes it is, yes,’ said Della. She watched him scratch his head as he stared into space. He seemed weighed down with whatever was occupying his thoughts. ‘And sometimes it isn’t.’
‘Cheers for that,’ he said with amused sarcasm and she laughed.
‘What’s up, Jimmy? You look down.’
Down was an understatement, depression was leaking out of every one of his pores.
‘Oh I don’t know, Del. Maybe I’m having a mid-life crisis,’ he said.
‘You’ve been having one of those since I started working for you, Jimmy Diamond.’
He didn’t laugh then. Della studied him as he stared blankly at the stapler on her desk. He was so handsome, even more so now that he had acquired a few lines around his eyes and some stray white hairs at his temple. She had to stop herself reaching out and stroking his head. A vulnerable Jimmy Diamond would be dangerous for her will.
‘Ever wish you could go back and start again?’ Jimmy said, raising his big blue eyes to hers.
‘Doesn’t everyone,’ Della replied softly.
He reached out his hand and closed his fingers around her wrist and despite everything that she was planning against him, her heart began to race.
‘I don’t know what I’d do without you, Del. You’re my best girl, do you know that?’
Della’s throat was bone dry. She could have been his best girl if he’d only asked. Even now, if he leant across to her and kissed her she would respond and kiss him back with fervour. She wouldn’t be able to stop herself.
‘In another lifetime, you and me might have made a go of things,’ he said. A small groan escaped Della’s throat. His eyes were soft and shining and his voice smoky with emotion. She might hate him but she had never stopped loving him either.
‘I’ve done some rotten stuff and you’ve seen loads of it yet you’ve never judged me, Del. I’ve never trusted anyone as much as I trust you.’
Oh Jimmy, Jimmy my darling. Please, just kiss me once. Just once.
Della gulped. She had to do this. She didn’t want to, it didn’t feel right but she had to.
‘Jimmy, there’s something I need to tell you about your wife. And you’re not going to like it,’ she said.
Chapter 68
Through the window Connie saw Jimmy’s car pull up outside so she got into position. She propped open her handbag on the kitchen table with her purse then picked up a cloth. She was wiping down the work surface with it when Jimmy came in.
‘Oh hello, Jim,’ she said with a small startled gasp. ‘I thought you were going straight to Leeds.’
‘I forgot to pack something,’ said Jimmy. He was lying as usual. She knew he’d come home to suss her out.
‘Do you want a cuppa before you go, or something to eat?’
‘No, I’m okay,’ said Jimmy. ‘Thanks for bringing me the shirt, Con. You should have rung, I’d have called back for it.’
‘Well, I’m at a bit of a loose end these days,’ Connie smiled. ‘I’ve been thinking about getting myself a part-time job or something. Have you any vacancies for cleaners?’
Jimmy looked momentarily horrified by that suggestion.
‘It was . . . nice to see Della after so many years,’ said Connie, leaving a significant pause. ‘She hasn’t changed much.’
‘Naw, she never changes,’ smiled Jimmy. ‘She was a dried-up stick when she came and she’s still a dried-up stick now.’
‘That’s not very nice, Jim.’
‘Well, at least I’m honest,’ he chuckled. ‘She does a good job, but then so does my desk and my chair.’
Connie looked up at him with confusion forming her features. ‘Why would you say that, Jimmy? She’s the best worker you’ll ever have.’
‘You’re not going to believe this, right,’ he gave a forced laugh. ‘Della actually told me that she thinks you came to deliver that shirt to check her out because you think there’s something going on between us.’
‘Wha-at?’
Jimmy slapped his hand on his thigh like Dandini in Cinderella might have. ‘I know. I sat and listened to her saying it, in all seriousness, and I don’t know how I kept a straight face.’ He formed his fingers into round glasses and lifted them to his eyes. ‘“You’re not going to like this, Jimmy, but I think your wife might suspect we are having an affair”,’ he said, parodying Della’s voice.
‘Why would she think that?’ asked Connie.
‘Christ knows. She’s been reading too many Mills and Boons,’ said Jimmy. ‘The thought of it!’ He shuddered and made an exaggerated ‘brrr’ sound. ‘I mean, you wouldn’t, would you?’
‘Jimmy, give up,’ said Connie.
‘I bet she’s full of cobwebs,’ Jimmy sniggered. ‘You don’t think that, do you, Con?’
Connie threw her cloth at him. ‘Course not. Now, Jimmy Diamond, go and get whatever you’ve forgotten and bugger off out of here.’
‘I’m going, I’m going,’ he said, laughing, and was straight up the stairs and back down them again. He called ‘See you tomorrow,’ and left.
Connie picked her phone out of her handbag and brought it to her ear. Della had been on the other end of it listening to the whole conversation.
‘Della, are you still there? Are you all right?’
‘Yes, I’m here.’
‘How did you know he’d come here?’
‘Because he will have panicked that you suspect he’s up to something. I don’t think he’s one hundred per cent made up his mind what he wants to do yet, if I’m honest.’ Della recalled the conversation about grass being greener. ‘I think the nearer it gets to the end of Lent, the more he is doubting his plans.’ Her voice croaked on the last word and Connie could have wept for her.
‘Oh, why did you ask me to do that?’
‘I wanted to hear what he said.’
‘You know Jimmy’s a bare-faced liar though, Della. If I’d have asked about Ivanka, he would probably have called her an acne-faced trog. Plus if he was trying to persuade me that you and he . . .’
‘It’s okay, Connie, I know. Thank you.’ Della’s voice was tight, controlled, but there was a motherlode of tears waiting behind it.
‘Please don’t thank me for doing that. It was awful.’
‘I needed to hear it,’ said Della.
‘You loved him, didn’t you, Della?’ Connie asked gently.
‘I’ll be in touch next week,’ replied Della, not answering the question. ‘I’m going on the sick but with any luck everything will be in place by close of business tomorrow night.’
‘Take care,’ said Connie, but Della had already hung up.
Chapter 69
Della was in work very early the next morning with a carrier bag full of goodies. She snapped on a pair of rubber gloves, went into the supply cupboard and twisted the tops off the bottles of carpet and upholstery cleaner before pouring extra strong bleach in. Next she poured red and blue dye into various containers. She mixed up potions like Severus Snape and hoped that she would knacker carpets, washing, upholstery and furniture all over Barnsley. Della had cried for hours but through the night her sadness had crystallised into a sharp, destructive hate. Today was D-Day and she was going to give it everything she had got.
*
Cheryl was in a light and happy mood when she set off for Mr Fairbanks’ house. She’d just received her first payment from Lady Muck deposit
ed in her bank account and, true to her word, she’d made up Cheryl’s wage to the full sixteen hours, and given her travelling expenses. And the sun was shining high and bright in the sky and trying to push out some warmth to offer assurances that spring was finally on its way.
‘Morning, Mr F, ’ she called in the direction of the lounge.
‘Morning, Cheryl,’ he replied. ‘Isn’t it a grand day.’
‘Lovely,’ said Cheryl. She felt better this morning than she had for a long time. She had slept well, not had any sad dreams about Gary and she’d won a tenner on a scratchcard. She’d buy herself a bottle of wine tonight and a chicken fried rice supper from China Moon around the corner. Sometimes the simple pleasures lifted people the most.
‘What’s on the news today?’ Cheryl said as she gave Mr Fairbanks his coffee and chocolate biscuits at eleven. ‘Anything exciting?’
‘Not unless you count a lot of old women doing pole-dancing for charity,’ shuddered Mr Fairbanks. ‘I only wish I could remove that sight from my memory with one of your scrubbing brushes.’
Cheryl laughed. ‘How’s the book coming on?’ she asked, as always. She knew he appreciated that she was interested in its progress.
‘Not very well,’ he said. ‘I think I am going to abandon it as a bad job.’
‘Aw, that’s a shame,’ said Cheryl, lifting his saucer to dust the table underneath it.
‘Mmm . . .’ Mid-mouthful of biscuit, Mr Fairbanks suddenly recalled something he had to mention and hurriedly chomped whilst waving his hand.
‘Steady on, Mr F, don’t choke,’ Cheryl chuckled.
‘Cheryl, I knew there was something I needed to tell you. That house that collapsed last week, do you remember?’
Will I ever forget? thought Cheryl.
‘The man who lived there escaped with a few cuts and bruises only,’ he went on.
‘Yeah, I know.’ Lucky swine.
‘Well, I didn’t realise that he was the nephew of Ernest Gardiner who built the house.’
‘That’s right, but by marriage,’ said Cheryl. ‘I used to clean for Edith, Ernest’s widow, who was the blood relation of Lance Nettleton, that’s the’ – twat – ‘guy you’re talking about.’
‘Ridiculous chap,’ said Mr Fairbanks, taking off his glasses and giving one of the arms a chew. ‘Wasn’t insured, apparently.’
Cheryl’s head snapped up. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Moved all his possessions from his old house into Brambles but didn’t switch his cover policy over. And there’s no buildings insurance on Brambles, of course. No bank on this earth would have underwritten that.’
‘Really?’ Cheryl’s eyes were glittering with disbelief. What was that German word her English teacher used to use all the time that would sum all this up for her if it was true. Ah yes, Schadenfreude. ‘How do you know all this, Mr Fairbanks?’
‘Old boys’ network,’ said Mr Fairbanks. ‘Bad lot, I heard, Nettleton. Refused to pay Mrs Gardiner’s gardener and wouldn’t let him have his tools back either.’
‘I know this is awful, Mr F, but I hope it is true that he’s had rotten luck for a change,’ said Cheryl, letting loose a hysterical giggle. ‘Oh I’m sorry, this isn’t like me at all to gloat.’
‘Cheryl, please sit down,’ said Mr Fairbanks, full of concern. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I don’t think I’ve been this overjoyed in a long time,’ laughed Cheryl, wiping the tears that were dropping out of her eyes. Tears for Edith, tears for justice. ‘I think Lance Nettleton murdered Edith Gardiner, Mr F. ’
‘My goodness, what do you mean?’ Mr Fairbanks’ huge hairy eyebrows rippled in shock.
‘I had the misfortune to come across Lance Nettleton when I was cleaning for Edith. She had decided to change an earlier will she’d made in his favour and disinherit him. Edith died within twenty-four hours of him finding that out. No one will ever convince me he didn’t murder her. But there’s no proof.’
‘Oh my goodness. That’s terrible, terrible. Poor Edith. Darling old girl. Batty as they come, but then all the Lakes were. Match made in heaven with the Gardiner family.’
‘Yes, she was quietly nuts,’ smiled Cheryl. ‘I loved being with her.’
‘Batty, but not nuts, Cheryl,’ Mr Fairbanks corrected her. He tapped his skull where the frontal lobe lay. ‘The Lake family had it all in perfect working order up here.’
Cheryl begged to differ. ‘I think Edith lost it a bit, Mr F. She was convinced that all the paintings she had around the house were original masterpieces. The Mona Lisa, Van Gogh’s Sunflowers . . .’
‘Did she ever tell you that her grandfather was a painter? Percy Lake.’
‘She did. I can’t say I ever heard of him though.’ It was hardly a name up there with Monet, thought Cheryl.
‘Oh, you won’t have done, no. But he was a fascinating man all the same. I talked at length to Edith about him years ago. I was going to feature him in my book but she said that she’d rather I didn’t. He was a bit of a crook, you see. Are there any more biscuits, Cheryl? I’m in the mood for a third today.’
‘Yes, I’ll go and get them, Mr F. ’
Cheryl hurried back with the rest of the packet.
‘Were you aware that Percy Lake was reputed to be a friend of Van Gogh?’
Cheryl burst out laughing. ‘Yes, she told me that one.’
‘Oh, don’t laugh, Cheryl, it could be true. Obviously I only have Edith’s word for it all but the dates she told me tie up with established facts.’
Cheryl’s laugh dried up. ‘When you say Van Gogh, you do mean Vincent Van Gogh? The Sunflower bloke?’
Mr Fairbanks smiled. ‘The Sunflower bloke indeed.’ He put his glasses back on. ‘Let me find my notes.’ He disappeared into his study and came back with a file which he proceeded to rifle through. ‘Yes, here we are. Percy Lake. One of the most incredibly talented artists the world has seen and yet no one has ever heard of him – now what do you think about that, Cheryl?’
Cheryl shook her head. ‘I’m lost,’ she said. ‘Surely if he was that much of a talent, everyone would know about him.’
‘Let me go back to the beginning, as Edith told me.’ He referred to his notes to refresh his memory. ‘In 1873 a young Percy Lake ran away from the north and his destiny, to be a miner like his father before him, because he had a natural talent for art. He somehow managed to worm his way into a job with an international art dealer in Covent Garden at the same time as a young Dutchman, who suggested they share lodgings in Brixton.’
‘Who was that then?’ Cheryl spluttered in amusement. ‘Vincent Van Gogh?’
‘Yes,’ said Mr Fairbanks. ‘The man himself.’
*
Even though he was not at home on Friday, the house still greeted Connie with a chocolately aroma, this time heavily scented with mint. There was a stack of parcels in the hallway and a handwritten note on top.
*
Dear Marilyn,
These are for the lounge. I’ve put the rest at the side of the appropriate windows (study, bedroom 1, bedroom 2, bedroom 3). Just let me know what I owe you.
Cheers – Brandon
She noticed there was a small mark after his name and wondered if he had been about to draw a kiss, then thought better of it. So, he stopped a natural reaction to put a kiss, why was that then? Oh for God’s sake Marilyn . . . Connie, whatever your name is . . . just put the bloody curtains up! She laughed at herself and lifted the stepladder which was propped up against the wall and carried it into the lounge.
The blue brocade curtains added a softness to the room. If he had chosen the material himself, then he had excellent taste, but she knew that already. The house was grand without being pretentious; its primary aim was comfort and easy living whilst being pleasurable to the eye. She imagined Brandon slobbing on the huge sofa at night, a glass of red wine and a dish of Doritos on a small table at the side of him. He liked to read, she knew, because there were books parked all over the house �
�� a thriller by his bed, a biography of a wild rugby player here on the coffee table, shelves full of them in his study on all subjects from cartoons to car manuals. Connie had always loved books. In the house she lived in next, she would have a huge antique bookcase full of them.
It was strange to think that she had this secret life setting up a rival business behind her husband’s back, cleaning for clients whilst he thought she was at home polishing the microwave for the umpteenth time and washing his socks. He hadn’t a clue that she was aware of nearly everything he was doing and planning. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he had already written his leaving speech to her about how he hoped they could stay friends and would be more than financially generous with her and would sign over the house to her. Well, she didn’t want it and couldn’t wait to say so now. He was going to get a bigger shock on the seventeenth of April than she was.
Surprisingly she wouldn’t be upset to leave her marital home with all its many memories. A fresh new space for one person would be good for her. And she would make sure that her divorce settlement afforded her that – she had copies of Jimmy’s secret bank accounts hidden in her wardrobe as insurance.
Connie had just started on the upstairs curtains when there was a ring on the doorbell. She climbed down the steps and had only reached the top of the stairs when it rang again, impatiently, and whoever was outside was trying the handle. ‘Give me a chance,’ she grumbled as she hurried to the front door and opened it. There stood Helena, still with that supercilious look on her face. Her eyes flicked over Connie from head to toe and back again with open disapproval.
‘I’d like to see Brandon, please,’ she said, clearly not happy at having to explain her purpose in visiting to a lowly domestic.
‘He’s not in,’ clipped Connie, riled by her attitude.
‘Really?’ Her tone suggested she didn’t believe that.
‘Well, his car isn’t on the drive.’ Did Helena think he’d concealed it under a plant pot?
‘I’ll wait.’ Helena attempted to side-step past her, but Connie barred her entrance.
Afternoon Tea at the Sunflower Café Page 28
