‘I left my mobile number.’ He indicated the note. ‘But as I’ve caught you, do you think we can have a quick chat?’
Julia knew she was looking less than enthusiastic and her teeth were starting to chatter. ‘I think I need to get straight into a hot bath,’ she said, hoping this was enough to make him leave.
Not to be dissuaded, Kit followed her inside the cottage. ‘Yes. Those precious fingers of yours are virtually blue. We can’t afford to have Britain’s most famous young concert pianist getting frostbite, now can we?’ He shut the door behind him, then shivered involuntarily. ‘Blimey, it’s freezing in here too. Listen, why don’t you go upstairs and have a hot bath, whilst I make a nice fire and some coffee?’
Julia turned round and eyed him. ‘I might be some time. I need a good soak.’
‘I’m in no rush,’ Kit answered amiably. ‘Off you go.’
Julia lay in the bath, taking time to thaw out both her feet and her brain, wondering at the timing of Kit’s appearance. She wasn’t used to having visitors turning up unexpectedly on her doorstep, and she wasn’t sure she liked it.
Yet … out there alone, she had known she couldn’t stay in the place she’d been any longer, that she had to do what everyone told her she must, and try to move on.
She could have chosen to die.
She had chosen to live.
Pulling on her jeans and her old woollen cardigan, she walked back down the stairs. Kit was sitting on the sofa, a small package resting on his knee. The fire was burning merrily in a way she could never quite achieve, however hard she tried.
‘So, how did you find me?’ she asked Kit as she hovered by the fire.
‘My sister, Bella, of course,’ Kit explained. ‘She knows everyone. Or should I say, she makes it her business to know everyone, and if she doesn’t, then she’ll know someone who does. In this case, it was your sister, Alicia. I did try to call, but your mobile seems to be permanently switched off.’
Julia thought guiltily of the seventeen messages she hadn’t listened to last time she switched it on. ‘There’s very little signal here.’
‘No problem. Firstly, I wanted to apologise for the other day.’
‘Why?’
Kit studied his hands. ‘I didn’t know about what had happened to you. As I said, I’ve been abroad for years. I only came back to England a few months ago.’
‘Who told you?’
‘Bella, of course. Apparently it was in all the newspapers here. So she’s gleaned her information from them. I’m sure most of it was inaccurate, as these things usually are.’
‘I … don’t know,’ Julia sighed. ‘As you can imagine, I didn’t read them.’
‘No, obviously you didn’t.’ Kit looked uncomfortable. ‘I’m sorry, Julia. It must have been … must be, terrible for you.’
‘Yes.’ For both their sakes, Julia swiftly changed the subject. ‘So, what was it you wanted to see me about?’
Kit’s face brightened. ‘I’ve found something that you and your family might be interested in.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. You remember I mentioned that I was renovating the cottages in the Quad?’
Julia nodded.
‘Well, it turns out my new home is your grandparents’ old house. The plumbers were taking out the floorboards and they found this.’ Kit indicated the package on his knee.
‘What is it?’
Julia watched Kit unwrap the package carefully to reveal a small, leather-bound book. He waved it at her. ‘It’s a diary, beginning in 1941. I flicked through it briefly and it’s an account of life as a prisoner of war in Changi jail.’
Julia’s brow furrowed. ‘That’s in Singapore, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Kit replied. ‘A lot of British soldiers who were fighting in Malaya at the time ended up in there for a while as guests of the Japs. Do you know if your grandfather was a prisoner of war?’
‘Grandfather Bill talked a lot about the “East”, but mostly of the beautiful flowers that grew there,’ Julia smiled. ‘He never mentioned Changi.’
‘I don’t suppose he would talk of it to a young child, but it certainly seems a possibility this diary is his, given what you’ve just said,’ said Kit. ‘And I can’t imagine it being anyone else’s, seeing as your grandfather lived in the cottage for the whole of his life.’
‘May I?’ Julia reached out her hand and Kit gave her the diary. She opened the first page and saw that the leather had protected the thin paper from too much ageing, and the writing on it was quite legible. And it was a beautiful hand that had written these words, the writing elegant, scripted in black ink.
‘Do you recognise that as your grandfather’s writing?’ Kit asked.
‘To be honest, I can’t ever remember seeing anything he wrote. It was my mother who used to record his notes on the many different types of orchids he grew in the hothouses,’ said Julia. ‘Perhaps my father would know his writing. Or, of course, my grandmother, who’s in her eighties, but still hale and hearty, from what I’ve heard. The question is, if it is his,’ Julia pondered, ‘why on earth did he hide it?’
‘Having read a little about the experiences of POWs at the hands of the Japanese, they had a pretty grim time of it. Perhaps your grandfather hid it, not wanting to upset your grandmother. When your family has read it, maybe I could borrow it? A first-hand account of a piece of history is always fascinating.’
‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ said Julia, feeling guilty she knew so little of Grandfather Bill’s past.
Kit stood up. ‘And … I was going to ask you a favour.’ He wandered over to the shallow bookshelf that stood on one side of the fireplace and pulled out a book. ‘This, I believe, is mine.’
He was holding The Children’s Own Wonder Book, which Julia had bought for one pound at the Wharton Park sale.
‘It can hardly be yours! It’s dated 1926.’
‘Yup, amazing what plastic surgery can do these days.’ Kit grinned in return. ‘But, seriously, it’s actually my grandfather’s book. So would you call it a fair exchange for the diary?’
‘Of course.’
‘Thanks. Look, Julia,’ Kit seemed suddenly awkward, ‘I’m starving and I was wondering if maybe we could go and get –’ He was interrupted by his mobile. ‘Excuse me, I’d better take it.’ He put the phone to his ear. ‘Hello? Hi, Annie …’ He listened then shook his head. ‘I can’t hear you, the signal’s dreadful here. What? No good, can’t hear. I’ll leave now and see you there. Thanks, bye.’
‘Sorry, Julia, I’ve got to go.’ Kit stood and walked towards the door, then turned back to her. ‘Let me know what happens with the diary, won’t you?’
‘Of course I will, and thanks, Kit, for taking the time to bring this over.’
‘No trouble. By the way, I checked on the hothouses; they’re still standing, although God knows what kind of state they’re in, judging by the mess in the kitchen garden. Come and see them soon if you’d like to, before the new owner takes up residence. Bye, Julia.’ He gave her a weary smile and shut the door.
5
Late afternoon saw Julia in the most unlikely of locations – the supermarket in the nearby town of Holt. After Kit had left, she had wandered aimlessly around the cottage, tried to rest, then finally decided that she was hungry. And not just lightly peckish, but starving, for the first time in weeks. Sitting in the car park, she proceeded to munch her way through a packet of sandwiches, two sausage rolls and a chocolate bar, presuming her appetite had been rebooted by the fresh air and the long walk that morning. Before, she’d always had a very healthy attitude to food; a high metabolism and a busy work schedule had demanded it as fuel to function. She had always eaten what she liked and never put on an ounce of weight. She didn’t own a set of scales, but the way her jeans currently hung off her hips told her it would take many more packets of sandwiches to regain what she had lost.
Throwing the sandwich wrapper on to the passenger seat, Julia set off for home. However,
when she reached the crossroads on the outskirts of Holt, she paused. Now that she seemed to have misplaced the map of exactly what she had been doing in it for the last seven months, the thought of going back to the cold, dark little cottage was unappealing. So, instead, she turned right and headed for Alicia’s cosy farmhouse.
‘Julia, what a lovely surprise!’ Alicia’s face lit up as Julia entered through the kitchen door. ‘Look who’s here, kids – Auntie Julia!’
‘I thought I’d just … drop in.’ Julia was suddenly uncomfortable.
Alicia was standing by the Aga, doling out supper into bowls for the children, who were sitting squabbling at the kitchen table.
‘And I’m really glad you did. Want some? It’s bean stew.’ Alicia dipped her fingers into one of the bowls and tested it. ‘Tastier than it sounds.’
‘No thanks. I’ve just eaten.’
Alicia raised an eyebrow as she took the bowls to the table. ‘Really?’
‘Yes!’ Julia quelled the familiar feeling of irritation. ‘I have just eaten actually. I’d love a cup of tea, though.’
‘Put the kettle on and make that two.’ Alicia sat down next to a complaining Fred and spoon-fed him.
‘Mummy, beans are yucky!’
‘Fred, the faster you eat it, the sooner it’ll be gone.’ Alicia let him be and came to stand by the Aga with Julia. ‘You’ve got some colour in your cheeks. In fact, you look better today than I’ve seen you in ages.’
‘Thanks.’ Julia concentrated on pouring boiling water into the teapot, feeling Alicia’s eyes on her. ‘I went for a long walk this morning. It did me good,’ she acknowledged.
‘Looks like it did. James! Will you stop flicking your beans at Fred. I’ll make you take them back and eat every last one.’
Julia passed Alicia her cup of tea. ‘And … I had a visitor today.’
‘Oh, you mean Kit Crawford?’
‘Yes.’
‘I was meaning to tell you that Bella Harper had called for your number. Actually, she was quite chatty.’ Alicia went to the table to clear the bowls away and presented the children with a yogurt each. ‘I presume she’s worked out exactly who you are. I’ve been elevated in her estimation, due to the fact I have a famous sister.’ Alicia raised her eyebrows. ‘Anyway, enough of that silly woman. What did Kit want?’
‘He found something at Bill and Elsie’s old cottage and he wanted to give it to me.’ Julia sipped her tea.
‘Really? What?’
‘A diary, which was presumably written by Grandfather Bill. It’s an account of being a prisoner of war in Changi jail in Singapore. I’ll let you know more when I’ve read it.’
‘How fascinating,’ breathed Alicia. ‘How old was Grandfather Bill when he wrote it?’
‘Well, it was 1941, so he would have been in his early twenties. Did you know he was held captive there?’ Julia asked.
Alicia shook her head. ‘No, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t. The person to ask is Grandmother Elsie. She would know.’
‘Have you seen her recently?’
Alicia looked guilty. ‘No, I haven’t. I never quite seem to find the time to go and visit her, what with the kids … I should have made more of an effort.’
‘Is she still living in Southwold?’ asked Julia.
‘Her sister died a year or so ago, so she lives there alone now. Do you remember the way she was obsessed with doing our hair? Up, down, plaits, ponytails, curls …’ Alicia giggled. ‘And that strange collection of wigs she kept in the back room of the cottage. She used to spend hours styling them, like a child playing with her dolls. She always wanted to be a hairdresser, didn’t she?’
‘Yes, and she hated my hair because it was too heavy to curl, even when she put it in what she called “rags” overnight.’ Julia smiled fondly at the thought. ‘I will go and see her. I’d like to anyway.’
Alicia walked over to the dresser and opened one of the drawers. She pulled out an address book and flicked through it. ‘This is Elsie’s telephone number and her address. Do go, Julia,’ she urged. ‘What with you living in France and me up to my neck in kids, we haven’t exactly been model granddaughters, have we?’
‘No, we haven’t,’ Julia agreed. ‘And when I see her, I’ll decide whether or not to give her the diary. As Kit said, it might’ve been hidden by Grandfather Bill because what it contained was so distressing.’
‘Good point.’ Alicia walked over to the table to clear it. ‘Wash your hands and faces, you lot. Then you have half an hour’s TV before Rose comes home and it’s bathtime. Go on, off you go.’
The three didn’t need to be told twice. They ran from the room, and Julia helped Alicia stack the dishwasher.
‘So, you and Kit had a good chat?’
‘Yes, I swapped him The Children’s Own Wonder Book for the diary.’ Julia smiled. ‘He’s been away for years, abroad somewhere. He didn’t know anything about … what’s happened to me. Until his sister told him, that is.’
‘Maybe that’s a good thing,’ said Alicia. ‘He’s very … attractive. Don’t you think?’
‘I don’t “think”, no. Anyway, I must be going.’
Alicia could see by Julia’s sudden change of expression that she had overstepped the mark and inwardly kicked herself. ‘Listen, let me write down Elsie’s telephone number.’ She scribbled it on to a piece of notepaper. ‘There,’ she said, handing it to Julia. ‘Let me know what happens, won’t you?’
‘Yes. Thanks for the tea.’ Julia was heading for the door already. ‘Bye.’
Julia got into the car, slamming the door much harder than she needed to and set off at a fast pace for home.
She ground her teeth in frustration at her older sister’s unerring habit of upsetting her. She understood Alicia was only trying to help, to look after her, just as she had when they were younger. But her protectiveness only made Julia feel patronised and small.
Alicia was, and always had been, capable, excellent at ‘life’ – the ‘Golden Girl’, as their father had always called her. She could throw endless plates in the air and keep them spinning merrily around at the same time. And all achieved with her sister’s trademark serenity, and not a hair out of place on her shining, blonde head.
Julia had grown up in her shadow, simply struggling to organize herself. She had been a loner, with no regard for her appearance, and only managing to scrape through her exams at school due to the countless hours spent instead on the piano. She’d always known she couldn’t begin to compete with Alicia’s perfection. Added to that, Alicia had always been closer to their father, whereas Julia was attached at the hip to their mother. Everyone used to comment how alike Julia and her mother were – not just physically, but in their other-worldliness and artistic nature.
Her childhood had ended on the day their mother had died.
When Julia arrived home, she stoked the fire aggressively, trying to return it to some of its earlier glory, still unsettled. The problem was that Alicia was a genuinely caring person – Julia couldn’t fault her. Which made her feel even more inadequate and guilty. She knew how hard Alicia had tried to fill her mother’s shoes when she was younger, and how difficult she’d been in response. But no one could fill her mother’s shoes … ever. And she’d only wished Alicia had stopped trying, had understood she needed a sister with whom to share the grief, not a ‘standin’ – albeit well-meaning – who could never replace what she’d lost.
And now, fate had conspired to put her in a position where she’d needed Alicia’s help again. True to form, Alicia had been there for her immediately, never once reproaching Julia for her woeful lack of contact since she had flown the nest at eighteen and subsequently moved to France.
But coming back here – Julia sighed sadly – it was as if history was repeating itself. Her life in ruins, juxtaposed against Alicia’s perfect one, compounded by her sister’s suffocating need to protect her. And – even more irritatingly –Alicia would often voice the thoughts Julia knew she was hiding f
rom herself.
She sat down on the sofa with the diary in her hands, determined to focus on something else. She opened it at the first page, but couldn’t concentrate on the words. She sat instead, staring into the fire.
‘He’s very attractive, don’t you think … ?’
Julia sighed, Alicia’s comment and her own exaggerated reaction to it forcing her to focus on why.
Yes … this morning, out on the spit, she had accepted she must move on, that she really had no choice. But even a hint that ‘moving on’ would almost certainly at some point include a man, was a step too far. The half-lit world she’d inhabited for the past few months had held no thoughts of the future.
How could it, when the future was gone?
Julia stood up and meandered into the kitchen. She opened the fridge, which was now brimming over with all sorts of food stuffs, and pulled out a pasta ready-meal. She wondered meanly whether she should take a photograph especially for Alicia, to stop her nagging.
As she carried her supper back into the sitting room, she acknowledged the source of her anger with her sister. She felt … guilty. Guilty because, despite herself, when Kit had been here she had enjoyed his company. And yes, she did find him an attractive man.
After supper, Julia picked up the diary, but felt too distracted to tackle it. It had been a long and emotional day. She made her way up the stairs to bed and, for the first time since her world had been blown apart seven months ago, Julia slept without having nightmares.
The next morning, she was awake and downstairs by eight. A cup of tea, this time with milk, and a bowl of muesli stiffened her new resolve to face her life once more. She dug her mobile phone out of the drawer, switched it on and went upstairs to the bathroom, the only place in the cottage where there was a proper signal.
She now had nineteen voicemails, some of them stretching as far back as two months ago. The most recent were from Alicia, her father, Kit and numerous messages from Olav, her agent.
Her housekeeper in France had also contacted her, asking her to call back immediately. There was some problem with the house, but Agnes spoke French so fast, Julia couldn’t work out where the leak was. She sat on the edge of the bath and made a list of the other callers, her hand shaking with the fear of speaking to people from her past.
Hothouse Flower Page 5
