Clare’s voice drifted in from outside. ‘Hi, Frank.’
‘Hello, there,’ he replied.
Why are you two sods staying out there? ‘Do you want a drink?’ May called to them.
‘No, we’re okay, thanks,’ replied Lara.
May was going to slap them both later.
‘So . . .’ she said eventually, putting the fresh pot of tea on the table and then taking the packet of biscuits and a small plate out of the cupboard. She hadn’t a clue what she was going to say next. Being in the presence of Frank made her tongue tie itself in knots.
‘So, are you enjoying yourself here, in Ren Dullem?’ asked Frank, rescuing her as he spooned one sugar and a small splash of milk into his cup.
‘Yes,’ said May, sitting down at the table. God, this man and his lovely heavily lashed eyes absorbed all her conscious thought and struck her silent. She forced herself to get a grip and make an effort at conversation. ‘We don’t have much time off work and we decided on a whim to book a holiday and spend some time with each other. We should have been at the spa at Wellem but there was a coc— an error in the reservation.’
‘Some error,’ said Frank. ‘Though I’m a great believer in things happening for a reason.’ He looked straight into her brown eyes with an intensity that had her bones vibrating. She knew he felt the connection between them too, because of the way he quickly turned his head away and scanned the kitchen.
‘Gene’s done it up well,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t lived in for a lot of years. It was our grandmother’s cottage. In fact, it’s been in the family for generations. Gene bought our shares, mine and our younger brother’s.’
‘There’s a lagoon downstairs,’ blurted May, ‘though you’ll know about that.’
‘You found it?’ He looked surprised.
‘Clare found it.’
‘Your friend with the . . .’ He pointed to his eyes, one then the other.
‘Clare with the witch eyes,’ May said loud enough for her friend outside to hear. ‘Yep. That’s her.’
Frank smiled as if a private joke was going on in his head. ‘Yes, of course.’ Then he shook himself out of his reverie. ‘How long are you staying?’
‘We leave next Friday. We’ve got a full week left,’ said May, tipping the biscuits onto a plate and offering them to Frank. Both of them noticed how much her hand was shaking. He took the plate from her and put it back down on the table.
‘I think they were too heavy; you were going to drop them,’ he said.
‘Thank you.’ Her eyes locked onto his again. And they wouldn’t unlock.
‘I should go,’ said Frank, standing up and only just clearing the ceiling. He hadn’t even taken a sip of tea.
‘Of course,’ said May, totally flustered now. She hadn’t a clue what chemical reactions were making her insides fizz. ‘You’ll have things to do.’
‘I haven’t got anything to do,’ said Frank, so quietly that no one else could overhear, ‘but if I stay for that tea I’ll end up kissing you and that would be wrong. See you later, May.’
‘Urggghhh,’ was May’s strange, unintelligible noise in response to that. She didn’t get up to show him out. She wasn’t sure her legs would support her.
Clare wasn’t certain she had made the right call when she and Lara casually walked back in after hearing Frank’s van leave. May looked as if someone had taken out her brain and replaced it with a Bird’s Trifle.
‘You okay?’ said Lara. ‘May, talk to me.’
‘I’m fine,’ May replied. ‘I’m just a bit astounded by his generosity. He left us loads of meat and wouldn’t take any money for it. Wasn’t that nice?’
‘Yes, it was,’ Clare and Lara chorused, not believing a word of May’s explanation as to why she was a whiter shade of white.
Chapter 41
At seven o’clock precisely Lord Carlton knocked on Joan’s cottage door. She opened it wearing the dress she had ‘borrowed’ from Mary’s wardrobe. Navy-blue with a white trim, it was fitted around the bust and waist and had a flared skirt. It was far too frumpy for Joan’s taste but perfect for the purpose for which she needed it. She had sprayed herself – and the room – liberally with the bottle of perfume that she had found in Mary’s dressing-table drawer. It had gone off a bit after all those years, but when Carlton crossed the threshold she saw his nose lift in the air and she watched the effect of the perfume snake to his brain. His face softened and his eyes twinkled as the memories sparkled behind them. Even his snow-white toupee seemed to sigh with delight.
‘Come right in and sit down,’ said Joan, smiling at him with her red-lipsticked mouth. ‘It’s nearly ready.’
The lounge, dining room and kitchen were all one room in the bijou dwelling place. She had scrubbed at it this afternoon, making it shine. Joan didn’t like housework. Upstairs her bedroom was a mess of clothes not hung up and general undusted, uncleaned grime that had built up over the months she had been here. She hadn’t bothered to clean it because Edwin would not be going in there. At least not tonight. After old Stanley Hawk she’d had enough of old men fumbling her. She’d let Stanley paw her, fall in love with her and marry her because he had a fortune. He hadn’t told her it was tied up in trust funds for his children. Luckily he had died not too long after she learned that. In his will he had left her ten thousand pounds for every completed year they had been married, but his family let her have twelve on the proviso that she buggered off immediately, carrying only the things she came with. She agreed, although the bags she came with ended up being stuffed with treasures from around the house; disappointingly they turned out to be mostly reproductions and nigh-on worthless. At least Edwin Carlton had no children – and he had a title. She quite fancied herself as Lady Joan – or would she be Lady Anne or Lady Jo or Lady Joanna? Maybe she would double-barrel Carlton with her maiden name: Lady Joanna MacLean-Carlton – it had a wonderfully genteel ring to it.
‘I know you don’t drink,’ said Joan, ‘so I’ve made some elderflower cordial. Granny’s recipe. There is some fermentation that takes place in the process, but I can assure you it’s minimal.’
She poured him a tall glass of cordial – bought from Tesco in Whitby and laced rather heavily with vodka.
‘Thank you,’ said Edwin, reaching out to take the glass. Joan noticed that on his middle finger he was wearing a ring with the family crest on it. She shivered with delight at having her own coat of arms as well as a title.
For starter she had made a prawn cocktail, the Marie-Rose sauce featuring a hearty splash of vodka too. ‘Every little helps,’ she had trilled to herself with a chortle because these were Tesco prawns. She was serving them up in some large seashells she had found in the kitchen cupboard. She brought them out and set one in front of Edwin.
‘It won’t be up to Gladys’s standards, I’m afraid, but hopefully I won’t poison you. I bought these fresh from the fish market in Wellem.’
‘We have a small market on Saturdays in Ren Dullem, you know,’ said Edwin. ‘Gladys gets ours from there.’
‘Ah, I didn’t know that,’ replied Joan. Not that it would have made any difference if she had known. Who wanted to shop in Dullem? It was a creepy little place, full of staring people who obviously hadn’t seen an attractive woman before, if their own were anything to go by. It was like walking through a James Herbert novel, with those odd foggy clouds. Wellem was far more buzzing and no one’s eyes bored into her back when she passed them. She still had nightmares about that fat little woman in a wheelchair who scowled at her because she’d dared to stir up the waters and say a very flirty hello to the tall, dark, handsome man who was pushing her. He reminded her of someone she was going to marry once: Adam. A strong, gentle and kind Scottish man from South Yorkshire, with red hair and a heart as soft as a marshmallow. She still thought about him, and regretted that she hadn’t managed to hang onto him.
‘This is lovely,’ said Edwin, tucking in as if he hadn’t eaten for a fortnight. ‘I’ve starve
d all day for this. I didn’t even eat the lunch that Gladys prepared for me.’
Just what I want to hear, thought Joan. The alcohol will get into your bloodstream so much more quickly.
‘I’ve been thinking, Joan, maybe you and Gladys ought to go to the pictures or something together. I’m sure she’d appreciate the company. Should I ask her for you?’
God forbid, thought Joan. ‘No, don’t ask. I’ll do it. I wouldn’t want her to feel obliged. I’m quite happy with my books in the evenings.’
Joan refilled Edwin’s glass. The fire in the grate had been heaped up high so that it would engender a thirst which would be beautifully quenched by her ‘granny’s iced cordial’.
Next, Joan delivered her chicken casserole to the table, the meat saturated in red wine. She hoped all the alcohol hadn’t been boiled off, but she would keep his glass topped up if so.
‘Chicken casserole,’ she announced. She heard his stomach rumble with pleasure as the aroma of the rich sauce drifted up his nostrils.
‘Do excuse me,’ Edwin apologized. ‘My goodness, I feel like a king.’
‘I made the bread myself, on the range,’ Joan said with a titter, pushing towards him a plate of Tesco baps just warmed in the oven. ‘I’m a proper little housewife, aren’t I?’
‘Gladys forbids me to eat white,’ said Edwin, pulling at his red silk cravat to loosen the top button on his shirt. Beads of sweat were appearing on his forehead. He took a long glug of the cordial.
‘But Gladys isn’t here, and I shan’t tell if you don’t,’ Joan promised, winking then watching as he tucked into the soft white bread with the eagerness of a child diving into his first Easter egg.
Edwin spooned a heap of potatoes onto his plate. Joan speared a chunk of chicken and thought that it didn’t taste half bad for a packet mix and most of a bottle of cheap red wine.
‘It’s nice to have your company,’ said Joan, lifting her glass and holding it aloft in a toast. Edwin hurriedly picked his up and chinked it against hers.
‘Cheers, my dear. Although if you’re looking to me for good company, I fear you are going to be sadly disappointed.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Joan. ‘My late husband was seventy-eight when we married. I’ve always found the company of older people much richer than that of people my own age. I think it’s because I was brought up by my grandparents.’
‘Oh?’ asked Edwin. ‘Were you? Why was that?’
‘I never knew my father. My poor mother, alas, had a lot of problems.’ She tapped her temple, indicating that her mother’s problems were mental ones. ‘It’s only in the last few years I’ve actually gotten to know her properly.’
Sometimes she used this story, sometimes she said that both parents died in a car crash, sometimes in a boating accident. Sometimes they were still alive and living in Australia.
‘That’s very sad,’ said Edwin. ‘I hope your mother is well now.’
‘Thank you, she’s doing brilliantly. It’s been a long journey for her though,’ Joan sighed.
‘I do feel for anyone who doesn’t come from a close family. I had the most wonderful parents and grandparents. And great-grandparents. I have very fond memories of them all.’
‘Yet you never had your own family, or remarried after Mary died?’
Edwin’s hand stilled on his third bap.
‘No, try as we might, we were never lucky on the children front, but we had each other. Until she was taken from me so early. Since then, no one has quite filled Mary’s shoes. Still, I’ve had enough to keep me busy all these years. There’s more to running this estate than meets the—’ He cut the sentence short then continued. ‘I mean, I take the duty of looking after the people of Ren Dullem very seriously.’
‘Like an old-fashioned lord of the manor?’ said Joan.
‘Yes, just like that,’ replied Edwin.
‘Unusual, though, in this day and age.’
‘Ren Dullem is an unusual place,’ remarked Edwin, spearing another potato on his plate. His eyes were slightly glassy, Joan noticed.
‘Very odd name for a place. Doesn’t make it sound very attractive.’
‘It’s from the French Reines de la Mer. People couldn’t pronounce it properly and it became what was much easier to say: Ren Dullem.’
‘Queens of the Sea – isn’t that what it means?’ Joan pressed.
‘Goodness, it’s very hot in here,’ said Edwin, fanning his face with his hand.
‘I’ll let the fire die down. More cordial?’ Joan plied Edwin with a full glass. ‘Sounds like a ship, doesn’t it? Queens of the Sea,’ she repeated.
‘Yes, yes, it does.’ Edwin nodded as he chewed noisily. ‘This is very good. Excellent chicken. As good as Gladys would make any day.’
Joan made light conversation about the general area because Edwin started to get edgy when questions about Ren Dullem were asked. She needed to lull him into a false sense of security, get him chatting until he couldn’t stop. Edwin waxed lyrical about geology and rocks and things that Joan couldn’t even be bothered remembering five seconds after he had mentioned them; she had to work hard to stop herself dropping off. She cranked up the momentum again with the raspberry trifle. She didn’t tell him there was half a pint of sherry in it.
‘A pure indulgence,’ said Edwin, his words slurring into each other beautifully now. He took a spoonful of the pudding, closed his eyes as if tasting heaven and then swallowed. ‘My dear Joan, please do not tell Gladys that I am eating cream.’
‘Our secret,’ said Joan, giving him her sweetest smile. ‘And you do know that I can be trusted with anything you tell me, Lord Carlton.’
‘Edwin, please,’ he said, lolling from side to side.
‘Edwin. I’m an old-fashioned girl. I’ve always prided myself on being completely trustworthy. I know that Gladys is worried that I might see something in the ledgers that maybe I shouldn’t, but even if I did – well, I’m a “secret-ary.” And I’m a very good and loyal one at that.’
‘You are the best,’ said Edwin, dropping his hand heavily onto Joan’s and squeezing it. He did not leave it there, though. His gesture was meant to be grateful and affectionate, not sleazy or seductive.
‘What are the village secrets I should be aware of now that this is my home?’ Joan asked brazenly, taking this up a notch or two now. Edwin was getting drunker by the second and yet he wasn’t opening up. If she had been sitting here with Stanley Hawk, she would have leaned over at this point and started stroking his chest. But that would terrify Edwin Carlton, she knew. He was not hungry for sex; he was hungry for company, for gentle affection.
‘Oh, there are no secrets to Ren Dullem,’ he said.
So he was still hanging onto the lie, despite the fact that he must be wankered by now, thought Joan. He had dropped his spoon in the trifle twice in the last minute. Joan was getting frustrated but she also knew that she couldn’t move quickly. Any drunker and he would pass out, and she didn’t want his carcass on her sofa all night.
‘Let me make some coffee,’ she said, touching him on the shoulder.
‘Wonderful,’ he said, not realizing there were beads of red jelly on his chin as he scraped his spoon in the bowl to retrieve every last bit of trifle.
By the time Joan had brought the coffees to the table, Edwin was asleep, leaning back at an uncomfortable angle in his chair and snoring softly.
Shit, thought Joan, shaking him gently and then more forcibly until he shuddered out of his slumber. His glassy eyes pulled in and out of focus on Joan, and now that drowsiness was coupled with alcohol all sorts of confused messages were being sent to his brain.
‘Mary?’ he said. ‘Is that you?’
Bingo! ‘Yes, Edwin,’ Joan replied, altering her voice to the sort of thin, reedy posh voice that she thought Lady Mary Carlton might have had.
‘Oh, it is good to see you, my love.’ His hand rested on Joan’s shoulder, touched her face tenderly.
‘Edwin,’ Joan licked her lips, ‘w
hat were you telling me just then? About the secrets in the village.’
Edwin closed his eyes, tired of trying to focus and just content to hear his beloved wife, touch her, take in her scent. ‘Oh, Mary, there isn’t anything you don’t know. Nothing’s changed.’
‘I’ve forgotten, Edwin,’ said Joan, trying to keep the excitement at bay in her voice. ‘What’s going on? Why are we paying out so much money from the estate to the villagers?’
‘The twelve families, Mary. We shall always look after the twelve families.’
Twelve families? What the frig was he talking about? Why couldn’t he give her a straight answer?
‘Why, Edwin? Why will we look after the twelve families?’
‘You remember, Mary. Gilbert shouldn’t have made them go out.’
Gilbert, as in his father? Gilbert Carlton? Had to be.
‘Gilbert, my love?’ said Joan sweetly.
‘They all told him it wasn’t safe but he insisted and then the boat sank.’
‘Ah, yes, and they all drowned. I remember.’ Joan guessed at the most obvious conclusion. So this Gilbert’s family paid out guilt money. And were still paying it?
‘No, my love.’ And he mumbled something.
Joan tried to decipher his words but they were sliding into each other. ‘What did you say? Rain saved them?’
‘Saved them all,’ Edwin replied, then he slid into an unconsciousness that he would not be woken from.
Chapter 42
The girls stayed in that evening and cooked one of Frank’s pies, which they ate with two tins of mushy peas bought from the shop. It was a delicious supper.
‘Don’t panic if I’m not around in the morning,’ said Clare. ‘I might go off for an early swim before I go up and see the old lady.’
‘There’s a shocker. Bet you can’t wait to get up in the morning to go for a dip and then whip out your J cloths – you’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven,’ chuckled Lara, and she yawned. This sea air was a killer. Either that or those funny clouds were full of valium. ‘I’m off to bed. Enjoy your scrubbing in the morning, you mad bag.’ She was asleep before her head touched the pillow and had a restful dreamless sleep, the type of sleep she rarely had any more.
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