“That was beautiful, my dear. A few missed notes here and there perhaps, and the phrasing might have been better in places, but you put such feeling into your performance.”
“Do I?” Christine wouldn’t have imagined that her playing could move anyone.
“I think the last sequence might be a little slower…” Miss Timpson fetched a stool and placed it beside Christine. Her fingers moving over the yellowed keys of the old piano with a reverence that coaxed a sweet haunting melody from them.
“You should have been a concert pianist,” Christine sighed. “I’ll never be that good. I don’t have the patience.”
“You play very nicely in your own way. I wanted to go on with my music, but there was Mother. She had no one but me and I couldn’t leave her after my father died.”
Christine saw the echoes of dreams in her eyes and it saddened her.
“Mother wondered if you could come to tea on Sunday?”
“Not this Sunday,” Christine apologised, as she saw her teacher to the door. “Uncle Jack is coming and he’s bringing a friend. I shall come one day next week to visit with your mother.”
“She does so enjoy your visits,” Miss Timpson edged up her threadbare skirt sufficiently to mount her bicycle. “Have a lovely time with your uncle. Goodbye for now.” She waved and wobbled off down the drive.
It was too nice a day to waste indoors, Christine decided and whistled to the dogs. She would walk to the lake to see if the swans had given birth to their cygnets yet.
“Uncle Jack is coming this weekend,” she told the dogs circling excitedly at her heels. “You’ll like that, won’t you, Rover? He might bring a special treat for you.”
Rover barked appreciatively.
“Uncle Jack is the black sheep of the family,” Christine confided to her faithful companion. “But I don’t care what people say. I think he is more exciting than any of those cinema stars. He’s a bit like Rhett Butler in Gone with the Wind.” A giggle escaped her as Rover took off after one of the stray cats that sometimes wandered onto the estate from the neighbouring farm. “Yes, I suppose I’ve told you that before, but I am glad he’s coming down.” She smiled as she pictured him in her mind.
At thirty-nine Uncle Jack was an extremely attractive man, handsome, rich and charming but with a hint of wickedness in his dark eyes. He lived in a beautiful red brick house in Hampstead, owned at least three expensive cars and had (as far as she could discover) a rather wild and glamorous lifestyle. He had never married, changed his girlfriends as often as his shirt, according to his father, and spoiled his niece shamefully.
It would be an interesting weekend, Christine thought as she set out on her walk. Although the wind was cool, above her the sun shone in a clear blue sky, birds sang in the trees and she was at peace with herself, little dreaming that all too soon her safe, comfortable world would be turned upside down.
Christine fed the wrinkled apple in her pocket to the old pony who had belonged first to Harry, and then to her. Apart from Bumble, the stables and paddocks were empty.
“Poor old Bumble,” Christine remarked as she caressed the pony’s soft nose. “It must get lonely for you here sometimes. Mummy just doesn’t have time to ride anymore. Grandfather can’t because his leg is too painful and they had to dig up some of the paddocks to grow vegetables. Which reminds me, I’d better have a word with the gardeners before I go home.”
Christine gave the gardeners a hand with the extended kitchen gardens when she could. There were only two of them now, and both were too old for active service – though they had been energetic in the Home Guard. Her grandfather had given permission for them to use the grounds of Penhallows for manoeuvres.
Christine stayed to groom the pony and walk him around the yard; she no longer rode him because he too, suffered from the effects of old age. She knew it was only a matter of time until he was put out to his final pasture. Whenever she wanted to ride, she went to visit a friend of her mother’s who was able to provide Christine with a mount from her own string of horses.
Today however, Christine did not feel like company. She went for a long walk after she had finished in the stables, missing lunch as she often did in an effort to lose some weight. She wasn’t fat, but she hadn’t yet completely shed what everyone called puppy fat.
On her return, she saw one of the gardeners with a small basket of eggs. She offered to take them with her to save him a trek to the kitchen.
“You were lucky today, Ned.”
“Yes, miss. The hens are layin’ well at the moment.” He scratched his ear. “Been for a good walk then?”
“Yes. It was such a lovely day I couldn’t resist. Uncle Jack is coming here this weekend, and he is bringing a friend.”
“That will be nice for you, Miss.”
Christine agreed. She went round to the back of the house to deliver her eggs to the kitchen. Her stomach rumbled as she entered the front of the house. She hoped there would be a spread of food and some sort for tea. Most days it was only she and her mother who bothered with tea. However, that afternoon she heard voices…loud voices. It sounded as if her mother was having a disagreement with someone. Caro Montgomery by the sound if it.
“Well, I think you are absolutely mad to agree,” Caro’s voice rose on a note of irritation. “You know nothing about this girl – and it is typical of Jack to drop this on you, Beth. You really should have told him that he shouldn’t bring her.”
Christine wasn’t disturbed. Her mother and Caro often argued.
Caro was Beth’s cousin on her mother’s side. She was married to a man several years her senior and accustomed to ruling her household with an iron fist. If a situation called for some straight talking, Cara was the one to do it.
“I have no right to stop him from bringing anyone he wants here,” Beth replied. “This is Jack’s home as much as mine. Besides, I’m curious to meet her.”
“She’s the daughter of Alexander’s first wife. Don’t you feel that is going to be rather awkward for you?”
“No, I don’t see that, Caro. All that was over years ago. True, it had been a scandal at the time, but Helen has been dead for years. Her second husband was killed in the first few months of the War and that makes us her only family.
“From what Jack tells me, Helene is something of a heroine. She helped to smuggle several English airmen through German lines. In the end, she was in danger of being arrested herself so they took her out. Jack was vague about the details. Helene was smuggled out – to England. She has been here for some months but didn’t try to make contact with the family until she saw a job advertised at the workshops.”
“It all sounds too good to be true,” Caro argued. “We’ve only got her word for it that she did all these things…that she is who she says.”
“Jack has checked everything out, and it’s perfectly true. Helene did come over through the network and she had been working for the Resistance. She was quite ill when they first got her to safety. They put her in a nursing home in the country for a few months. In the circumstances the least we can do is welcome her to Penhallows.”
“You were always too soft for your own good. Probably just as well that I came down this weekend. I’ll sort her out for you.”
“There really isn’t any least need. You know I love to see you, Caro, but you don’t have to come rushing here to protect us every time something happens.”
Caro made a face. “I said you were too soft, but I know better than to imagine you need protection. If this girl is all you say she is, then I have to see her for myself.”
“Of course you do, Caro,” Beth replied with a slight lift of her brow. “And since you are here, you can help me with Christine.”
Outside the door, Christine stiffened at the mention of her name, guiltily aware that she should make her presence known. Yet she hesitated, because she had long ago learned that the only way she ever found out anything in this house was to eavesdrop.
“What has she been d
oing?”
“Nothing but mooching around since she left school last Christmas. That’s why I want your help. She needs new clothes and some kind of direction in her life.”
“Christine is a perfectly sweet girl. I won’t hear a word against her, Beth. We can’t all be as brilliant as you. Christine is developing at her own speed.”
“I am aware of your feelings for her. That’s why I’m asking you for help. Perhaps you could take her up to London and introduce her to some of your friends.”
“Christine isn’t like you, Beth. She’s shy and a little awkward…”
Christine’s ears were red hot. Her fault for listening. She coughed as she entered the room. Her mother and Caro turned to stare at her guiltily.
“Christine darling!” Caro held out her hands. “Did you hear us talking? Of course you did and it was dreadful of us. I hope you weren’t too upset?”
“I shouldn’t have listened.” Christine could not be annoyed when Caro looked at her with such a teasing look. “It’s lovely to see you, Caro. I didn’t know you were coming today.”
“Nor did I, until I spoke to Jack last night,” Caro’s green eyes glowed like a cat’s. She smoothed a stray hair into place at the side of her face. Her hair was red and thick, shining with health; her figure slim and elegant. Christine admired her, and not just because she was beautiful. “Besides, one of my charity meetings was cancelled at the last minute and I thought I could do with a weekend in the country. Rupert is in Scotland. He wants me to join him but I’ve told him not to expect me until the end of next week at the earliest. Can you put up with me for a few days?”
“We love having you here and it’s been ages since I’ve seen you. You don’t visit often enough – does she, Mummy?”
“Too busy.” Caro made a wry face. “But you will have a guest soon. We’ve heard that Simon was wounded a month ago. He wants to convalesce here and your mother says she’ll have him, so…”
Christine hurt so much inside she could hardly breathe at the thought of Simon being wounded. Christine had loved Caro’s only son since she was old enough to follow him around the place on his frequent visits.
“Is…is he badly hurt?”
“His letter says it’s only a scratch, but you know how men are. It must be bad or they wouldn’t ship him home. Rupert says I’m not to fuss and I shan’t, but I can’t help worrying.”
“We shall look after him. He’s welcome to stay for as long as he likes – isn’t he, Henry?” Beth asked as Henry Winthrope entered the parlour. He leaned heavily on his stick. “Simon has been wounded and would like to stay with us.”
“Yes, of course. Glad to have the boy here.” Henry turned his penetrating gaze on Christine. “And where have you been all day, miss? I expected a visit.”
“I was coming up after tea,” Christine said. She kissed his cheek when he lowered himself heavily into the shabby wing chair by the fireplace. “Mrs. Benson said you were having a bad day and wanted to rest.”
Henry carried his years well. A lean wiry man with silvered hair, he was still attractive.
“Mrs. Benson is a wonderful housekeeper but altogether too busy for her own good,” Henry grumped. “The day I refuse to see you is the day they might as well put me in my box.”
“Should you be up yet?” Beth regarded him anxiously. “Doctor Milton thought that chill had dragged you back. He’d advised a few days rest…”
“Milton is an old woman,” her father snapped. “Besides, if the mountain won’t come to Mohamed…”
Christine fetched him a cup of tea. She placed it on the little table to his right. She brought her own stool and perched next to him.
“I didn’t think I was quite that fat, Grandfather.”
“You aren’t fat at all,” he replied. “Comely is the word we used in my day.”
“Christine is much slimmer than she was last Christmas,” Caro observed. “You’re turning into quite a pretty girl, my love. Your hair is a lovely rich dark brown and your complexion is good. The right clothes would make all the difference.”
“Jack is bringing someone this weekend,” Beth said, her look of anxiety increasing as she poured more tea for herself. “Her name is Helene Picard. She…she’s Alexander’s first wife’s daughter.”
“Did Jack consult with you about this, Beth? No, don’t bother to answer. I know he wouldn’t. It’s typical of your brother. He never thinks of what others might feel. I’ll have a word with him about this.”
“Please don’t upset yourself, Father. I really don’t mind. Honestly. It was a bit of a shock when I’d realized who she was, but I’m actually quite looking forward to meeting her. I’m sure Alexander would have wanted her to come if…” She broke off, still unable to speak of her husband without that sudden rush of grief.
“Well, you know your own mind, I suppose.” Henry looked doubtful. Christine knew he had never forgiven Alexander Kavanagh for involving his daughter in the scandal and for marrying her.
“She’s quite the heroine,” Beth remarked. “She has been helping to smuggle English airmen out of France since the beginning of the conflict.”
“Then I suppose she must be allowed to come,” Henry conceded grudgingly. “Although, if those damned Frenchies had held firm in the first place, this wretched war might have been over long ago.”
Beth and Caro exchanged expressive glances. Henry made it clear there wasn’t much to choose between the French and the Germans in his estimation. He disliked both nationalities equally and considered the English the only nation on earth worth a damn.
“Besides, Alexander left the cottage in Cromer to Helene’s mother,” Beth pointed out. “He bought it for her when they married, and I never liked it. I dare say he meant to change his will after Helen died, but he never got around to it. I suppose it belongs to Helene now.”
Henry made a sound of disgust.
“Well, considering that you had to have a new roof put on it last winter, the cottage ought to be yours,” Caro reminded her. “It must have cost you a fortune in upkeep. Anyone else would have let it go to rack and ruin.”
“Alexander would have done the same as I had. I couldn’t do less.”
“Too soft for your own good,” Henry muttered, but subsided after Beth’s reproachful glare.
“Anyway, she’s coming here now and I shall be able to hand her property over to her. Since she has lost everything in France, I’m sure it will be nice for her to have something to call her own.”
“What happened to the chateau her father’s family owned?”
“The Germans took it over and I’ve heard it had been bombed a couple of years back,” Beth told them. “I believe it’s little more than a burned out shell. The estate is still of value, of course, but she can’t touch it while the country is still in turmoil. Who knows if she will ever get it back? There’s nothing to be done until the war is over.”
“Well, that may not be much longer,” Caro observed. “It does look as if things are going the right way at last.”
“Not before time!” Henry put in. “Well, I shan’t tell you you’re a fool to have the girl here, Beth. You usually get your own way in the long run, but don’t trust her too much – that’s my advice.”
Christine sat with her knees up, hugging them to her as she listened. She wondered what the French woman would be like and how she would react to being with English people who were probably as close to a family as she had now.
Her gaze strayed to the windows. The sun was shining. It was a perfect spring day even though it was still March.
Her mother and Caro were still discussing the French woman, but Christine’s thoughts drifted away. She would do her best to make Helene welcome, but all that really mattered was that Simon was coming home.
Chapter Two
“Would you mind taking a note to the village for me?” Beth asked Christine the next morning. “I want to talk to Mrs.. Jenkins about the flower festival next month, but her telephone seems to be
out of order.”
“Of course I will,” Christine put down her magazine and took the envelope from her mother. “Is there anything you want from the village shop?”
“Nothing, thank you, darling,” Beth glanced out of the window. “It looks as if there may be rain before the day is over. I would send you in the car but we have precious little petrol these days.”
“Oh, I’ll take your bike and be there and back in no time,” Christine promised. “Don’t worry, Mummy. It will probably hold off for a while yet, besides, a little rain won’t hurt me.”
She pulled on a jacket as she left the house and walked round the back to a small shed. One of the dogs came running eagerly but she sent him away with a shake of her head.
“Not today, Jasper. Mrs. Jenkins won’t want your muddy paws all over her floor.”
The only bicycle available was one that had belonged to Harry. Someone must be using Beth’s, Christine thought ruefully. She mounted the crossbar with difficulty and grimaced as she wobbled off down the drive. She was in control of the steering by the time she left the estate and took the narrow road towards the village. It was a road seldom used by traffic other than visitors to the house. The scene was one of pastoral tranquillity, with lambs grazing in a field and rooks building their nests.
It was not far to the small village nestled securely in a sheltered hollow just beyond a beautiful old church. There was the merest hint of rain in the air as Christine dismounted and walked up the moss-grown flagstones to Mrs. Jenkins’ house.
“How lovely to see you, Christine,” the elderly woman greeted her at the open door. “Do come in. I have been trying to telephone your dear mother but something seems to be wrong with my line. I can’t imagine what it is.”
“That’s why I brought this note,” Christine fished the letter out of her pocket and handed it to Mrs.. Jenkins. “Mummy says she has been trying to ring you.”
Mrs. Jenkins read the letter and looked pleased. “Oh, how kind. Your mother has asked me to tea tomorrow to discuss the flower festival. Please tell her that I shall be delighted to come.”
Chateau Despair Page 2
