He frowned. ‘My darling Grace, I’ve loved you for years. There’s never been anyone else for me but you. I didn’t ask you to marry me to be kind. I asked you to marry me because I want to spend the rest of my life with you and only you. I might have waited until you’d had time to grieve for your father, but when Mr Garner threatened to kick you out of your home, I had to act fast. It’s all a bit sudden, but it’s right.’ He grinned mischievously. ‘I liked you lying next to me on the sofa. I want to lie next to you again. Why wait?’ Now she blushed, too. He curled her hair behind her ear. ‘I’m going to take great care of you, Grace.’
‘I know you will,’ she replied softly and lowered her eyes, embarrassed.
A little later they were bicycling back towards town, their hearts bursting with an unfamiliar kind of exuberance. They ran into Freddie’s house and broke the news. Auntie May dissolved into tears. Uncle Michael went red in the face with pleasure, patted his son heartily on the back and drew Grace into his bear-like embrace. Josephine was so surprised she threw her arms around Grace, pressing her sticky lips on her cheek and leaving a crimson smear. ‘A wedding! Oh, how exciting. What am I going to wear?’
Grace stayed for dinner and they all made plans around the dining-room table. May tried to persuade Grace to stay the night, but she firmly refused, insisting again that she was quite happy on her own at the cottage. In fact, she felt happier there than anywhere, because every corner of that little house echoed with memories of her father. It had been such a busy day she had barely had time to think. Left alone in her room, she would revisit all the good times and try not to mourn his loss.
Later, after Uncle Michael had driven her home, Grace lay in bed with Pepper curled up against her feet. She toyed with the makeshift ring and thought of Freddie. She couldn’t believe she was getting married. In the silent darkness of her room she smiled at the thought of her wedding. Auntie May would help her with the dress and she would cut some berries from the garden for the bouquet. It was all so exciting until she thought of walking down the aisle. Who would give her away? Then she wept quietly into her pillow.
The following morning she awoke to the sound of rain on the window panes. She got up to avoid wallowing in her bed with the empty feeling gnawing at her stomach. The sooner she got on with her day, the better she’d feel. She didn’t glance down the corridor as she went to use the bathroom and she tried not to let her eyes linger on her father’s shaving soap and razor. Downstairs, she let Pepper out into the garden and put the kettle on the range. Then she sat alone at the kitchen table, staring at the walls, which seemed so much bigger now that her father wasn’t in the house. She longed for Freddie, for the familiar sound of another human being shuffling about the house. She longed for company to chase her loneliness away.
Suddenly there was a knock on the door. She imagined it might be Auntie May with another breakfast hamper. But when she opened it she found grumpy Cummings in his chauffeur’s hat, holding a stiff white envelope. ‘This is for you, Miss Grace,’ he said solemnly. She looked over his shoulder at the gleaming black Bentley and wondered why she hadn’t heard it arrive. Pepper was busy sniffing the wheels. She hoped Cummings wouldn’t turn around and see him cocking his leg on the rubber tyre.
‘Thank you,’ she replied. He nodded curtly and left. She called the dog, then retreated into the hall, closing the door behind her. She ran her fingers over her name, which was neatly and rather flamboyantly written in black ink. Her heart began to thump as she saw the Penselwood family crest of a lion and dragon embossed in gold on the back of the envelope. She lifted the flap and withdrew the correspondence. She noticed immediately that it was headed with the letter R, also embossed in gold. She sank onto a chair and began to read.
Dear Grace,
I’m so terribly sorry to hear the sad news about your dear father. You must be devastated. Arthur was a very good man, highly respected and loved by those he worked with here at Walbridge, and the many friends who were fortunate enough to have known him. I hope you are bearing up, Grace, and seeking consolation in those charming little bees you love so much. I do hate to think of you alone in that cottage but hear from Mr Garner that you are going to remain there to look after the hives. That fills me with joy, because to lose your father and your bees in one moment would be unbearable.
If I can do anything, please let me know. I will be spending much more time at Walbridge now that I have joined the tank regiment in Bovington and will be living at home. Papa is getting older and is keen for me to learn the ropes, so that one day, on his demise, I might take over (and do an adequate job of it, so as not to make the old man turn in his grave!). I do hope to see you, and to see a sunny face and not a sad one. Your sorrow will pass, Grace, and you will be left with all the lovely memories of a very fine father. At least, that’s what Grandmama says, and she should know.
My warmest wishes, Rufus
Grace read it again, this time more slowly. She felt his sentiment reverberate off the page like a warm, familiar fire, and her heart contracted, slipping into a well-established pattern of behaviour. But the yellow ring caught her eye and she held up her hand to look at it. That was real; Rufus was not, at least not an option. She closed the letter and replaced it in its envelope. Then she went upstairs and put it away in her dressing-table drawer and pushed it shut. She opened her bedroom window and leaned out to breathe the damp air. Freddie was her future. Freddie was the man she really loved. Rufus had just been a fantasy. A childish fantasy she had now grown out of. She took a deep, satisfied breath.
At that moment a bumblebee came buzzing in from the climbing roses on the wall outside her window. It settled on her yellow cardigan. She watched its fat, furry body as it clumsily clambered over the wool. Then she lifted it gently and put her hand outside. It was still raining and the little bee didn’t appear too pleased about it. But it eventually toddled off and, astonishingly for such a rotund creature, was carried upwards by its impossibly tiny wings, until it disappeared into the mist.
Chapter 15
Tekanasset Island, Massachusetts, 1973
After Big’s house, the largest private home on the island belonged to Bill and Evelyn Durlacher. It was a gleaming white clapboard house built in the 1800s, with a grey-tiled roof, tall sash windows and a veranda that ran along almost the entire southern wall, its trellis roof covered in pink climbing roses. The interior had been decorated by a famous designer, flown in from New York, who had got so carried away with his nautical theme that the rooms looked as if they belonged on a ship rather than on land: shiny wooden floorboards, blue-and-white-striped upholstery, furniture gleaned from old boats. The bookcases were full of glossy hardbacks, bought in bulk, and the coffee tables laden with giant tomes on art and history, chosen for their distinction rather than their content, neither of which was of any interest to Bill and Evelyn. Every wall was hung with pictures, mainly of boats, and every table adorned with expensive knick-knacks chosen by the designer. In fact, when the house was finished there was barely anything in it that Evelyn had seen before. But she was delighted because the place looked ‘done’ – heaven forbid that people should think she had been so common as to put it together on her own.
The gardens had been nothing special until Grace Valentine had transformed them twenty years ago. Evelyn had told her in no uncertain terms that she wanted ‘grand’, not ‘quaint’, so Grace had divided the grounds into three separate gardens. In one she had placed a stone fountain in the centre and planted boxwood and roses in a geometric arrangement around it, creating the most splendid rose garden on the island. In the second, she had designed a very English garden with a brightly coloured herbaceous border that was the envy of all, and in the third she had worked an orchard around the tennis court, planting cherry trees that blossomed in the spring and looked like snow.
Now Evelyn, Belle, Sally and Blythe put down their tennis rackets and left the court to Bill and his highly competitive men’s four. Bill rarely deigned to play w
ith his wife because he didn’t consider women to be enough of a challenge, and when he did, Evelyn complained of the patronizing way he patted the ball at her, and usually ended the match before it had finished by storming off in a rage. Now he strode onto the immaculately clipped grass in his dazzling tennis whites and opened a new box of Slazenger balls.
‘Let’s go and have a drink on the terrace,’ Evelyn suggested, leading her ladies up the path towards the house. Belle admired the gardens but Evelyn didn’t notice the vibrant colours and the little bees that buzzed about them, because she was so busy deciding which dress she was going to wear to dinner that night.
‘I think you have one of the prettiest gardens on Tekanasset,’ said Belle, knowing that the only compliment Evelyn would appreciate was one delivered in the superlative.
‘Well, I told Grace I wanted Versailles, not Le Petit Trianon,’ Evelyn replied with a little sniff. ‘I think she got the point.’
‘She certainly did,’ Sally interjected. ‘I must say, it’s looking spectacular.’
‘I fear everything goes a little mad in August,’ said Belle. ‘At least, mine grows out of control and I have to throw my hands up and give in to nature.’
‘Not here,’ said Evelyn. ‘Old Tom Robinson and his son Julian are weeding away like dervishes. You know Tom is nearly seventy?’
‘It’s the oxygen in the greenery that keeps him young,’ said Belle.
‘Then we should all put more plants indoors,’ Evelyn suggested.
‘Or give in to a little nip and tuck,’ Blythe added.
‘You wouldn’t dare, would you, Blythe?’ Belle asked.
‘Oh, I’d sell my soul for eternal youth,’ she laughed.
They sat on the terrace. Evelyn crossed her tanned legs. Her white skirt barely covered her skinny thighs. She wore white tennis shoes with little socks held in the right place by the pale pink balls at the back. She had barely sweated into her white tennis shirt and the pale pink sweat bands on her wrists were dry. It was Evelyn’s priority to look ‘done’ whatever the circumstances. She rather regretted being seen on the beach in her nightdress at three in the morning.
‘Have you heard that Joe’s rock band has broken up?’ said Evelyn as a butler appeared in his tailcoat to pour the drinks. The three women looked him up and down in astonishment. The poor man was very hot in his uniform, not least because he was overweight and unfit. ‘Well, let me tell you. Jasper, the one Trixie’s in love with, has had to return to England because his brother was killed in a car crash.’
‘Yes, I heard,’ said Belle sadly. ‘Poor boy. What a dreadful tragedy.’
‘I gather he’s not coming back, either. He has a vast estate to run, apparently,’ Blythe added.
‘Who would have known he came from that sort of family?’ said Sally, lighting a cigarette.
‘Oh, I’m sure if we had met him properly we would have noticed that he was well bred. Lucy did say he had impeccable manners,’ said Evelyn.
Belle watched the butler retreat inside. ‘Who’s he?’ she hissed to Evelyn.
Evelyn smiled smugly. ‘He’s my new butler. He’s called Henderson and used to work in the British royal household.’
‘What does that mean?’ Blythe asked.
‘He worked for the royal family.’
Belle took a cigarette from the packet Sally held out for her. ‘How did you find him?’ she enquired.
‘From a wonderful agency in New York,’ Evelyn replied. ‘When he’s got to know me a little better, I’ll ask him for all the gossip.’
‘Ooh, do pass it on,’ said Sally excitedly, blowing out a cloud of smoke.
‘You can always count on me,’ Evelyn replied. She brought her cocktail to her crimson lips, making sure she didn’t leave a mark on the glass.
‘So, is their career truly over?’ Belle asked. ‘Poor boys, what a disappointment.’
There was no such sympathy in Evelyn’s voice. ‘Lucy told me that Trixie expects to go and join him in England. Now, what do you think the chances are of that? Hmm?’ She gave a little sniff. ‘I imagine she’ll grow old waiting for him to make an honest woman of her. Trixie is the sort of girl a man has fun with but doesn’t marry.’
‘I agree,’ echoed Sally. There had never been a time when she hadn’t agreed with Evelyn. ‘Men marry the nice girls, not the naughty ones.’
‘Poor Trixie,’ Belle sighed. ‘She must be brokenhearted.’
‘More brokenhearted now she knows that he owns a vast estate. Do you think he’s titled?’ Blythe asked. ‘I mean, don’t estates come with titles?’
‘Most certainly,’ said Evelyn. ‘I’ll ask Henderson. He’s bound to know that sort of thing.’ She glanced at her manicure. ‘He would have done better to have fallen in love with Lucy. She’ll make some man a very good wife one day.’
‘Oh yes, she will,’ Sally gushed. ‘You’ve brought Lucy up to be a nice girl.’
Trixie waited. She trusted that Jasper would send for her eventually, and her sorrow at their parting was replaced by a blind optimism for their future. He wrote her letters from England, which took over a week to arrive. She was impressed by the stiff white envelopes, embossed on the back with the crest of a lion and dragon, and she was thrilled by his writing paper, headed with the letter J in gleaming crimson. His handwriting was flamboyant but the contents of his letters were depressing. He wrote of his mother’s despair, his sisters’ fighting and the struggle he was having stepping into his brother’s shoes when he knew nothing about how to run an estate. He wrote about the high expectations everyone had of him and his fear that he would disappoint.
Trixie began to feel apprehensive. Judging by the grand stationery and the fact that the estate was passed down the generations through the male heirs, it was clear that the Duncliffes must be a grand and important family. While Jasper doubted he could run the estate, Trixie doubted she’d be good enough for his family. He had said his mother would disapprove of her and she now knew why. Trixie wasn’t from a wealthy family. Her father was a farmer, her mother was a gardener and she was a waitress. Her confidence deflated like a balloon the morning after a party. It was Jasper’s duty to marry one of his own sort. Even he had said she’d be ill suited to his life in England. She began to wonder if he wasn’t right.
While her optimism about their future flagged, her confidence in their love remained strong. She longed for his physical presence with such vigour that her whole body ached. She wrote him emotional letters but kept her reservations to herself. Jasper always ended his with a paragraph about how much he loved her and missed her and yearned for the day when they would be reunited. Those parts she read and reread, wearing his name out with her kisses, replacing her fears with the hope that everything would turn out all right in the end.
Jasper had been gone four weeks when he telephoned. Grace shouted up the stairs with urgency and Freddie came out of his office to see what all the excitement was about. ‘It’s Jasper!’ she exclaimed. ‘He’s calling from England!’ Trixie ran down the stairs and into the kitchen where her mother was holding out the receiver, looking as surprised as Trixie felt.
‘Hello?’ she said.
There was a short delay, then Jasper’s voice could be heard faintly down the crackling line. ‘Trixie. I just wanted to hear your voice.’
‘Oh, Jasper, you sound so far away!’
‘I am far away.’
‘I miss you!’
‘I miss you, too. You have no idea how much. I wish I was in Jack’s boathouse with you in my arms.’
‘So do I,’ she breathed into the receiver. ‘Is it getting easier?’
‘A little. I’m learning the ropes. I have a lot of good people around me who know what they’re doing, thankfully. It’s my mother who’s driving me mad.’
‘How is she driving you mad?’
He hesitated. ‘She’s just making life very difficult for me.’
‘Have you told her about us?’
‘Of course I have.’<
br />
There was a long pause. Trixie could feel his anxiety through the wire. ‘You can’t expect her to like someone she’s never met, and she probably isn’t too happy about me being American. Have you told her my parents are English?’
He sighed. ‘It’ll be fine. Don’t worry. I love your letters.’
‘Oh, I love yours, too. Did you put the lion on the back of the envelope?’
He laughed. ‘No, the lion and dragon is our family crest, Trixie.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’ll be your family crest when we’re married.’
‘Oh, good, so I’ll get to have elegant stationery, too, with the letter B on the paper?’
‘Yes, Beatrix, you will.’
‘I’m so excited. Please send for me soon. I’m going crazy here missing you.’
‘I know. Just a little longer. Keep writing to me, won’t you?’
‘You bet.’
‘I think of you all the time, Trixie.’
‘And I think of you, too.’ Her throat constricted with emotion. ‘I love you, Jasper.’
‘And I love you, too. Don’t ever forget it.’
‘I won’t.’
‘I kiss you all over.’
She laughed through her tears. ‘And I treasure every one.’
Grace sat on the swing chair and strained her ears to hear her daughter’s conversation. From the little she picked up, it sounded positive. Since the news that Rufus had died she hadn’t been able to sleep. Her nights had been spent here on the swing chair, gazing out over the ocean, remembering. She never felt alone. There was always the silent presence of her invisible companion. Somehow, in the darkness, she felt him stronger, closer, and there was something about his company that she found soothing.
If Trixie married Jasper, she would have to return to Walbridge and confront her past. She’d have to revisit the cottage, the scene of her father’s death, the river where Freddie proposed, the church where they were married – and she’d be faced with having to unravel all that came after.
The Beekeeper's Daughter A Novel Page 17
