Having the language in common seemed to somehow emphasise their closeness, and they chatted for a little while in French, Abbie first teasing her about Liam, then talking about her work in the Paris boutique. ‘I felt very ignorant as a young girl myself when I started out, with so much to learn, not least the language. Thankfully, my employer, Marisa, was most helpful. But what a dreadful woman the Countess sounds.’
Millie laughed. ‘She was indeed.’
‘You were unlucky, Gran, whereas Marisa became a dear friend. I really must ring her and explain I’ve decided to stay on.’
Her grandmother’s eyes softened. ‘I’m so glad. I shall enjoy having you around.’
‘How would you feel about my becoming involved in the business that you and Grandpa started?’
‘Immensely proud.’
Abbie pulled a wry face. ‘Dad might think differently.’
‘Oh, I’m sure he could be persuaded, given time. Don’t give up hope.’
‘Bless you, Gran. What would I do without you? And now that I know how you came to go to Russia, I’m itching to hear what it was like, and how you felt being so far from home.’
‘Rather cold, I seem to remember,’ chuckled Millie, then waved her away. ‘Enough for now, my darling. It’s time for my nap. I’ll tell you more when you come again.’
It was what her grandmother was not telling her that frustrated and intrigued Abbie the most, but the following day being a Monday, she decided it was time to pay a visit to the shop. Fay had promised to mind Aimée for the morning, although later in the day Abbie intended to set about securing her daughter a place in the village school. Excitement was growing inside her, although when she’d announced her plans for the day at breakfast, her father had instantly objected.
‘What possible good will that do? You aren’t up to running a business.’
‘How do you know that, Dad, unless you give me the chance to try? I’m not five years old any longer, or a silly teenager.’
‘I’m well aware of that, but it needs a skilled professional to bring it back into profit, not some dreamy amateur.’
‘Nor am I an amateur,’ Abbie said, determined to remain calm and maintain confidence in herself. ‘As I’ve already explained, I have many years of experience in the fashion industry.’
Robert smirked. ‘You should go back to Paris, then, to sell frocks. You certainly don’t belong here.’
Unwilling to let her brother see how hurt she was by this cutting remark, Abbie dismissed the comment with a shrug. ‘It would seem that none of us rightly belongs here, or so Gran tells me.’
‘What nonsense are you talking now?’ Robert laughed.
Her father, she noticed, had turned ashen, his mouth set in a grim line. ‘Whatever Millie has been saying is not to be taken too seriously. She’s an old lady and her memory is slipping.’
‘She’s as sharp as ever, although admittedly I haven’t heard anywhere near the whole story yet. Hopefully, she’ll tell me more later, and eventually come to how and why our family have been allowed to live here, even though we don’t actually own Carreck Place.’
Robert erupted in fury. ‘Now you’ve gone completely off your head.’
Abbie folded her napkin and quietly got to her feet, but it was her father to whom she addressed her reply. ‘I think you’d better explain to Robert what you recently discovered in Mum’s will, don’t you? In the meantime, I shall attempt to work out what needs to be done to improve the business. I’ll take the old Ford, if that’s okay, Dad.’
A heated argument had begun between the pair of them long before she reached the door, but Abbie didn’t pause to listen as she walked determinedly away.
She parked the car close to St Margaret’s Churchyard, then walked up the crooked stone steps on past the Marina Hotel along Carndale Road, a gift shop that provided summer visitors with cheap souvenirs, an estate agent, a string of other small shops including a smart art gallery and a charming little café, to finally arrive at Precious Dreams. A bell clanged as she pushed open the door and went inside, to be met by a smiling young girl standing behind the counter.
‘Good morning madam. Can I help?’ she politely enquired.
‘I’m Abigail Myers, Kate’s daughter. You must be Linda.’
‘Oh, how lovely to meet you,’ the girl cried, instantly shaking the hand Abbie proffered by way of welcome. She was small with flicked-up blonde hair, huge blue eyes with what must be false eyelashes and beautifully manicured fingernails. She was dressed in a smart navy sheath dress with a nipped-in waist and short matching jacket. Abbie was suitably impressed. She felt quite drab by comparison in the grey two-piece suit she’d chosen to wear, wishing to appear businesslike.
‘Have you worked here long?’ she asked a few minutes later as they sat drinking coffee.
‘Three years, ever since I left school,’ Linda told her. ‘I’ll be eighteen next month. I love it, and your mother taught me a great deal about jewellery, although I still have a lot to learn.’
A woman wandered in, looked at a few brooches and necklaces, shook her head with a smile and walked out again.
Linda gave an apologetic little shrug. ‘We are rather quiet just now. Trade is not good. I spend much of my time polishing and cleaning the jewellery.’
Abbie glanced about at the locked glass cases displaying a variety of beautifully made costume jewellery set with abalone, lapis lazuli, mother-of-pearl, turquoise, opal, malachite and other precious stones. There was quite a bit of gold and silver in evidence, and what might even be a selection of diamond, ruby and sapphire rings and earrings. ‘It all looks lovely. What about the workshop? Could I take a look in there?’
‘Oh, it’s pretty neglected, I’m afraid,’ Linda said. Pulling aside a curtain, she led the way through a surprisingly large stock room, with mainly empty shelves, to a small workshop beyond. ‘Nothing much happens in here any more. Your mother rather lost interest.’
The entire premises were more spacious than she remembered, but the workshop was as stark and empty as the stock room. The benches and work tables were bare, dust had settled over the polishing and cutting tools, and cobwebs hung from the ceiling. ‘It is a bit depressing, isn’t it?’
‘I’m afraid so. Mrs Myers didn’t think it worth her while to design our own pieces any more. Much easier to buy in, she said.’
‘But then you just get the same kind of jewellery that everyone else is selling, instead of something original.’
‘She believed that wasn’t important, that most people buy jewellery for its value in terms of price or carats, or how shiny and precious it is. Mrs Myers said that a fine piece of jewellery was an investment.’
Abbie smiled. ‘An artist might disagree and say it can be much more than that. A lovely piece of jewellery should make a statement, reflect the personality of the wearer, a fashion or style. And since we’re now in the sixties we should be appealing to the young, as they are the ones with the money and the desire to look good. We need to offer jewellery that is bright and elaborate, extravagant, even brash. Lots of jingly bracelets and dangly earrings, polished and faceted beads, brooches, pendants and rings in the shape of flowers, stars, butterflies, preferably in garish colours or with lots of sparkle.’
The young girl’s gaze was alight with interest as she took in the enthusiasm evident in Abbie’s voice. ‘Oh, I do so agree. Look how elegant Jacqueline Kennedy is. I’d love to look like her. She’s so stylish.’
Abbie smiled. ‘I rather think you do already, particularly in that outfit,’ she said, and laughed as the girl blushed quite prettily. ‘The fact is, Linda, as you will have guessed, profits are down, so something needs to be done, and soon. We must strive to attract a wider market, to create a brand that will appeal to a wider audience. Jewellery is big business right now, and I believe that with a little effort we could do so much better. I do hope
you’ll be willing to help me achieve this.’
Blue eyes shining, Linda was eagerly nodding. ‘Oh yes, I’d love to.’
‘Good, then I shall begin by giving the workshop a good spring clean, then check the equipment and stores. Meanwhile, if you could get any paperwork and stock lists together, I’ll take them away with me to look at later. Precious Dreams, I hope, could be the answer to my dream too.’
After a busy morning Abbie collected Aimée and treated the little girl to her favourite lunch of beans on toast in the little café, while she enjoyed a tuna sandwich and a welcome cup of tea. Later they fed the ducks on the lake with some of the leftover toast crumbs, then called in at the village school where a few of the teachers were busy preparing for the new term that started in two days’ time.
‘I’m afraid she’s much better at French than English,’ Abbie explained to the headmistress. ‘So her reading isn’t too good, but she’s bright enough so I’m hoping she’ll soon catch up.’
‘I’m sure she will, and you never know we might pick up a little French from her. We’re delighted to welcome you to St Margaret’s, Aimée. Mrs Sanderson here will be your teacher.’ As the lady in question took Aimée away to show her the classroom she would occupy, the headmistress placed a gentle hand on Abbie’s arm. ‘My condolences, Miss Myers, over your loss. Kate was a lovely lady, and will be a sore loss to the community.’
Tears choked Abbie’s throat, as always at any expression of sympathy. ‘I’ve been surprised to hear how involved she became with church groups, the WI and so on,’ she finally managed, a slight tremor in her voice.
‘Oh goodness, yes, very much so. And there wasn’t a day went by without her visiting several old ladies who live alone in the Victorian villas on the Parade that circles the perimeter of the lake. She was a lovely lady with a soft heart.’
Abbie pondered these words as she drove home past those very houses, wondering why other people’s view of her mother was so very different from her own. But then a teenager’s opinion must surely be loaded with personal issues. Kate had been appalled when Abbie had asked if she might join the business.
‘But why can’t I? I love art and jewellery, and designing things. Can’t I do a course or something?’
‘You should get yourself a degree,’ she’d insisted. ‘Or perhaps a teaching qualification.’
Abbie had laughed. ‘I think you’re mixing me up with someone else’s daughter. I’m no academic and I don’t believe teaching is really me.’
‘I rather thought you’d say that, so I’ve booked you in for a secretarial course in Manchester.’
‘What? You’d no right to do such a thing, not without speaking to me first.’
‘I have every right. I’m your mother.’
‘Ah, so this is about power, is it? You just want to keep the jewellery business all to yourself.’ Abbie had felt a hot anger bubbling inside her. ‘You really don’t care what I do so long as I’m as far away from here as possible, do you? Well, don’t worry, I’ll make sure of that.’
Kate had gone deathly pale. ‘Don’t say such things. Of course it’s not about power, and I don’t want you to go away forever. I want only what’s best for you.’
‘Best for yourself, you mean.’ At just seventeen and hopelessly in love, Abbie hadn’t been prepared to admit that she’d only thought of joining the jewellery business because she couldn’t think what else she’d like to do with her life, although a passion for art and fashion did seem to be growing in her. Throughout the summer she’d been helping in the bar of a local hotel while she tried to make up her mind what to do next. It was here that she’d met Eduard, and fallen in love, hoping to persuade him to stay on in the Lake District. But if there was no job for her here, Abbie could see no reason for either of them to remain. ‘No doubt sharing the profits with me is much less fun than putting it all into your own pocket.’
Kate had given a harsh little laugh at that remark. ‘There aren’t many profits to share.’
‘Don’t lie.’
‘I’m not lying, Abigail. Things are not always as rosy as you might think. Life can be quite complicated at times.’
‘Well, you can stop worrying about me. I am one complication you can forget. Keep the business all to yourself if that’s what you want. See if I care. I have other plans, which do not include a secretarial course in Manchester,’ she’d responded, with typical teenage rebellion.
‘And what might they be, might I ask?’
She’d looked her mother full in the face, heart pounding, as she’d answered with a deliberate casualness. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m planning on getting married.’
There’d been a stunned silence for all of five seconds before Kate had burst out laughing. ‘Goodness, now where have I heard that before?’ At the time, Abbie hadn’t understood this remark. Now of course she saw how Kate was thinking of her own history. ‘And who is the lucky bridegroom?’
‘Eduard Grimont. He’s the new French chef at the Ring of Bells.’
‘Don’t talk ridiculous. You’re only seventeen. Why on earth would you wish to marry so young, let alone someone you’ve only just met?’
‘Because I’m pregnant with his child.’ At which point, Abbie had stormed off before her mother could respond.
Too late now to regret having told her so bluntly, or leaving home before she’d had time to properly get to know her mother as an adult. Now her thoughts sadly returned to the issue most troubling her. What had possessed Kate, so happily engrossed in the community, to end it all in that terrible way? Abbie could only hope that her grandmother’s story would eventually throw some light upon the mystery.
The moment they arrived at Carreck Place, Aimée rushed off to tell her cousin Jonathon her news. In her excitement she nearly bumped into Fay, who was on her way out with the pushchair just as Aimée charged through the door. Abbie apologised and explained.
‘Ah, well it seems they’ll be attending the same school. Robert has decided we are not to return to our flat in Windermere, but will stay on for a while here in Carreckwater so that your father won’t be lonely.’
‘How very generous of him,’ Abbie drily remarked, not sure whether this news pleased her or not. She rather liked Fay, despite her lack of tact at times. Her brother, however, was a different matter. What a chicken-head he was, always ready to stir up trouble. ‘Then he and I had better agree upon some sort of truce.’
Fay gave a little giggle. ‘I’ll see if I can persuade him.’
Determined to waste no time worrying over her foolish and arrogant brother, Abbie went straight to the lodge to see her grandmother, and over a most welcome cup of tea happily related the details of her day, including her sketchy plans for the shop.
‘I feel filled with guilt at separating Aimée from her father,’ she said, smiling as she watched her daughter pushing her young cousin on the swing. ‘They have a good relationship, and I’ve no wish to destroy it.’
‘Isn’t that why you stayed with Eduard so long?’ her grandmother asked softly.
‘Maybe. Guilt, jealousy, a longing for love, foolish hope ‒ just a mass of emotions warring with each other. It wasn’t easy.’
‘Nor will being a single parent be easy.’
‘I realise that, and do worry about whether I’ll cope,’ Abbie ruefully admitted.
‘Of course you will. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, and you enjoy a close relationship with your daughter.’
Abbie smiled. ‘She is a sweetie, isn’t she? Let’s hope she settles into her new school okay. Thankfully she and young Jonathon seem already to be good friends. As for myself, I must learn to toughen up and follow my dream.’
‘As did I,’ Millie agreed.
‘So what made you decide to accept her offer, disliking the Countess as you did?’
‘Good question. Ambition. The op
timism of youth. A desire to see the world. Who knows?’
‘Oh, do tell. What happened next?’
Millie laughed. ‘All right, where was I? Ah yes, I was about to embark upon my new life.’
EIGHT
The day I sailed for Russia was in mid-November and my parents, who’d raised no great objections to my decision, came to see me off. My mother, however, had been devastated by the thought of not seeing me again for what might be years.
‘I shall write every week,’ I promised, giving her a comforting hug, far too excited at the prospect of the adventure that lay ahead to fully appreciate her concern.
They stood on the quayside at Hull, and I watched as she wept in my father’s arms, their image shrinking before my eyes as the ship slid slowly out to sea. It was in that moment of farewell that for the first time I felt a small nudge of fear. Despite my dream to travel I had never been further than visiting an old aunt in Leeds. As I frantically waved goodbye to my beloved parents, reality dawned. Russia was a foreign land, thousands of miles from home, where I wouldn’t know a soul. I would also be responsible for two young children when I was little more than a child myself. What madness had possessed me to accept such a position?
A voice at my elbow interrupted my troubled thoughts. ‘Is this your first trip?’
I looked into the smiling face of a plump young woman not much older than myself. Her red-brown hair was largely obscured by a wide-brimmed hat, although wisps of it escaped to flutter around pale round cheeks, and fringed lively brown eyes. I returned her smile with a wobbly one of my own as I wiped away my tears. ‘I’m afraid it is, and I was unprepared for the depth of emotion I would feel at leaving home.’
‘It isn’t easy. I remember almost jumping ship the first time I did it. Ruth Stubbins,’ she said, offering a hand for me to shake.
I gladly accepted it and introduced myself, feeling very much in need of a friend just then. ‘It’s not your first trip, then?’
‘Goodness no, I’m an old hand at this lark now, having spent almost five years as a governess in Russia. I take it that’s what you’re going out to do?’
The Amber Keeper Page 6
