‘You didn’t think I deserved it, and were trying to find a way out?’ Abbie softly asked.
‘Maybe. I also doubted she would have made such a will had she realised what a sorry state Precious Dreams would fall into. But then I realised it wasn’t my decision to make. The shop belonged to her, not to me, and as you constantly remind me, you are no longer a foolish teenager. I decided I should at least allow you the opportunity to prove yourself and hopefully restore some of the damage you did.’
Abbie inwardly cringed, instantly feeling an urge to defend herself, but before she could find the right words, a voice boomed out.
‘She could never do that!’
Neither of them had heard Robert approach, and with an anxious-looking Fay at his side he stood glowering down upon them both, legs astride, arms folded across his puffed-out chest. ‘Did I hear right? Are you saying that Mother left the property on Carndale Road to you?’
Abbie met her brother’s glare with an apologetic little smile. ‘So I’ve been told.’
‘Why on earth would she do such a thing when you let her down so badly? It’s not as if she’d forgiven you for ruining your reputation, along with that of the entire family.’
Abbie was on her feet in a second, trembling slightly as she always did whenever her brother attempted to intimidate her. But she felt her father’s hand upon her arm, gently drawing her back down beside him.
‘That’s enough, Robert. Maybe she had forgiven Abigail, deep down, but just couldn’t bring herself to admit it. The longer an estrangement lasts, the more difficult it is to bring it to a close. Perhaps the will represented a step towards that, as far as your mother was concerned. A decision we should respect.’
A small silence fell upon them all, one broken finally by Abbie herself. ‘I promise I will do my utmost to justify her faith in me. But it’s my life, and I have the right to make my own decisions, so I’d appreciate no more elder brother lectures, please.’
Clearing her throat and slipping an arm about her husband, for the first time Fay chose to intervene in the family feud. ‘I think you appreciate that now, don’t you, darling?’
Robert looked into his wife’s eyes, then at his father’s questioning gaze, but there was little softening of the glare he finally directed at Abbie. ‘As long as you appreciate that if you fail, Dad stands to lose everything.’
And as he walked away, taking Fay with him, Abbie was grateful for the small squeeze her father gave to her hand before he rose to follow his son. But, heart pounding, she was left in no doubt that failure was not an option.
The local paper came out the following Thursday, and as expected the piece began by mentioning Kate’s suicide at some length, although it did add that Abbie was still grieving for her. But any sympathy this might have provoked was destroyed by the next sentence. ‘As an unmarried mother with no sign of a husband to support her, Abigail Myers is making a valiant attempt to restore a business badly neglected in recent years, no doubt due to her mother’s state of depression.’
‘Was it absolutely necessary to mention my lack of marital status, let alone Mum’s suicide?’ Abbie groaned, as she and Linda read the article together. She wished Drew was still around, as she felt a great urge to run to him for comfort and consolation, but then remembered he wouldn’t be the right person to turn to at all.
‘Don’t take these comments too much to heart. You are not alone. There are other single women with children out there.’
A résumé of Abbie’s family history followed which hinted at a tendency of its female members to share a craving for travel. ‘Grandmother, mother and daughter have all run off to foreign lands in their youth. We can only assume that affairs of the heart were the reason for such adventures. How long Miss Abigail Myers will remain in Carreckwater will perhaps depend on what new temptations come her way.’
‘She seems to be suggesting that I could run off with another man at any time,’ Abbie steamed. The piece did eventually give a brief description of the official shop opening and the members of the community who had attended the party, and concluded by warning of the possibility of a rival shop soon to open next door.
‘It’s so negative. Why does she paint such a bleak picture?’
Giving a sad little sigh, Linda said, ‘Presumably to make a story. She barely even mentions the jewellery, or all that information you gave her about the amber. What a let-down.’ At that moment the shop bell jingled and two women walked in. Linda quickly stuffed the paper out of sight to welcome them with her usual bright smile.
Later, after a surprisingly busy morning, Abbie was feeling much more relaxed. ‘We’ve done well despite that dreadful article. Well, they do say there’s no such thing as bad publicity.’
Linda gave a rueful grin. ‘Attem girl, even if his lordship next door does seem to be working his socks off to open up in competition any day soon.’
‘You’ve changed your tune.’
‘I’m on your side. We’ll fight him every inch of the way, right?’
‘Absolutely!’
Abbie was collecting Aimée from school when Joan Sanderson, the little girl’s teacher, came out to speak to her.
‘Ah Abbie, I’m glad I caught you. I’ve seen that piece in the paper and wanted to say that I thought Clarinda Ratcliffe gave you rather a hard time. Not that it greatly surprises me. I don’t know all the details but she and Kate didn’t get on too well.’
‘That dreadful woman actually knew my mother?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘She never said.’
‘They fell out years ago, over something very silly. Kate was chosen to be secretary of the local Soroptimists instead of her. Clarinda isn’t the kind of person who takes to being overlooked or ignored.’
‘Neither was my mother. Oh, but that makes me feel so much better, even though it doesn’t actually change the fact she put the worst possible slant on everything. Surprisingly though, trade has perked up wonderfully today.’
‘Excellent, but then Miss Prickly, as she’s known locally, isn’t particularly well liked.’ Joan Sanderson laughed, drawing Abbie to one side to avoid the crush of children rushing to meet the parents come to collect them, as well as away from anyone who might overhear. ‘Clarinda Ratcliffe is the kind of gossipmonger who loves to root out the worst in people, as well as being a notorious flirt. I believe she tried it on with your father but got nowhere.’
Abbie frowned. ‘I’m not surprised. There was only one woman for my dad.’
‘Exactly, but that rather sealed the deal on any hope of a reconciliation between the two women. If they both happened to be at the same function, their comments to each other would be extremely barbed, almost embarrassing to listen to. Clarinda hated the fact your mother enjoyed a happy marriage, and Kate believed her rival had done her utmost to ruin it.’
Abbie was listening to all of this with great interest. ‘By the sound of it, you must have known my mother rather well.’
‘Oh yes, Kate and I were good friends.’
‘Could we meet up for coffee some time? I’ll love to talk to you and try to find out more about her, since I lost touch with my mother for all those years. For instance, do you know why she went to the Riviera?’
The teacher drew in a breath, released it on a sigh. ‘I do, as a matter of fact, and it’s really rather a sad tale.’
‘I’d love to hear it, sometime soon if at all possible,’ said Abbie and, glancing across at her daughter, happily playing tig with Jonathon, added, ‘When I don’t have Aimée with me, of course.’
‘Perhaps tomorrow, then, when your sister-in-law collects the children and I’ve finished work for the week? Could you come to my house around five?’
‘That would be wonderful.’
The next afternoon, leaving Linda in charge, Abbie set out for what she hoped would be a fruitful visit. Taking a det
our, she turned left at Benthwaite Cross and up through St Margaret’s Walk rather than face the crowds still milling around the main shopping area of Carndale Road, even at almost five o’clock. In the winter Carreckwater was a quiet, sleepy place where locals strolled about, nodding and smiling and greeting everyone they met. Now that summer had arrived there was barely room to move let alone recognise a familiar face, so Abbie was not concerned when she first heard footsteps behind her, assuming it to be one of the many tourists wandering about. But when she entered the quieter streets leading to Hazelwood Crescent where Joan lived, she was surprised to still hear the distant click of heels on the cobbles behind her.
She quickened her pace slightly. So did the footsteps. After another few yards she glanced back over her shoulder, but could see no one. Feeling rather foolish, thinking she must have imagined it, she hurried on to find Joan waiting for her on the doorstep.
‘I thought I heard you coming. We don’t get many visitors in these parts, thank goodness.’
Looking back along the street, a thoughtful frown puckering her brow, Abbie considered these words as Joan led her along the side of the house to where a table and chairs were set out on the back lawn. Had it just been her imagination, or was someone really following her?
‘I’ve made some lemonade, which I thought we’d take outside to enjoy this lovely sunny day.’
‘What a beautiful garden. Oh, and what a magnificent view.’
‘I never grow tired of looking at it. That sprawling ridge is Loughrigg. From its summit there are even more spectacular views of the Langdale Pikes. I love to walk over there, or around the tarn that nestles beneath, particularly now in early summer when the surface is awash with water lilies. The tarn was a favourite of Wordsworth. The poet described it as being as “clear and bright as heaven”.’
‘I can well believe it. I hope to put in some walking myself this autumn, once the shop is less busy.’
Joan began to pour lemonade in to two glasses, adding ice from a jug. ‘I’m delighted to hear business is good, despite Clarinda’s vicious little piece. But let’s not talk about her. Let us remember my dear friend Kate.’
Accepting a delicious slice of chocolate cake, Abbie soon forgot all about her possible stalker as she became instantly caught up in the tale Joan had to tell.
‘I know you are aware that your mother was adopted, and I dare say by now you will have discovered that Countess Olga Belinsky was actually her birth mother.’
‘Yes, I knew years ago that she was adopted but not where or when.’ Abbie told Joan briefly of her visit to the orphanage at Stepney, and something of what her grandmother had told her.
‘Well, back in 1936 when Kate was just nineteen, the Countess arrived at Carreck Place, quite out of the blue. At first Kate was delighted to see her. I suppose it was a relief to find out at last who her real mother was, and even quite exciting that she should turn out to be a countess. But I don’t believe your grandmother was quite so pleased.’
‘I can understand that. Apart from the fear of losing her, Millie hates to look back. It has taken months of effort on my part to drag out the story of her time in Russia and learn the information I wanted about my mother. I must say I didn’t hurry her because I found it all absolutely fascinating, both tragic and touching. So how did Millie react to the Countess’s sudden appearance?’
Joan sadly shook her head. ‘There were many arguments, apparently, both between Kate and her mother, and between Millie and the Countess, over the way she was intruding upon their lives. She called constantly, refusing to let go, and even accused your grandmother of stealing her daughter, whom she called Katya. She threatened to tell the police that Millie had also stolen her jewellery.’
‘God, that woman talked complete trash. Millie told me how she’d once been accused of stealing the Countess’s pearls.’
‘In this instance the Countess was referring to an amber pendant, not her pearls. Millie insisted she had no recollection of what had happened to that.’
‘Ah, it must be the one I found in Mum’s baby things. But do go on. What happened next?’
‘The battle was really over access to Kate, and your grandmother tried to explain to her daughter that it was all lies, that the Countess had ordered Millie to claim to be her mother, as she’d refused to acknowledge the child. I think Kate found this hard to accept, which resulted in more quarrels. Then Olga offered Kate a home in the Riviera, and she agreed to go.’
‘Oh, my goodness. So that was the reason she supposedly ran off?’
‘I’m afraid so, and it rather broke your grandmother’s heart.’
Abbie was silent for some minutes, understanding what a cruel blow this must have been for Millie. ‘I can’t imagine how I would feel if I lost my darling Aimée. I’m quite happy for Eduard, my ex, to have her visit from time to time, but I’d be in pieces if he tried to take her from me completely.’
Joan was nodding. ‘I should think that’s exactly how your grandmother felt. She’d brought Kate up as her own child from birth, and as she was unable to have any children of her own she couldn’t have loved her more. Kate loved her too, but was at a rebellious age. However, she soon regretted her decision to move in with Olga, as she quickly became disillusioned. After just a few months she found herself more and more controlled and manipulated for the Countess’s own selfish purposes. Kate told me she was shocked by her decadent lifestyle, her string of lovers, her profligate spending. Apparently she had learned nothing from the Russian revolution. So when Olga attempted to force her into marriage with a rich aristocrat, Kate had had enough and returned home. She’d finally realised that the woman who had been the only true loving mother to her was Millie.’
There were tears in Abbie’s eyes by this time. ‘Oh, thank goodness for that, although I’m not sure their relationship entirely recovered from the trauma. I can see now why there was always a slight restraint between them.’
‘Indeed. They were probably nervous of reviving past hurts.’
‘I really do appreciate you telling me all of this. It has helped enormously.’
‘Feel free to call whenever you wish to talk. Any daughter of Kate’s is a friend of mine.’
When she reached the church yard, Abbie was surprised to catch a glimpse of Eduard parking his car, which puzzled her as he was supposed to be taking Aimée out on a steam launch. Why would he take her home early when he’d made such a fuss of wanting to spend as much time as possible with her? The answer came to her in a flash and she marched right over.
‘Are you following me?’
Eduard blinked. ‘Follow you where? I thought you were at the shop, working.’
‘Don’t lie to me. I heard your footsteps following me earlier when I went to visit a friend.’
His lip curled in derision. ‘Was that the friend I saw you with the other night? Is he your latest lover?’
‘He most certainly is not my lover, and nor was he the friend I was visiting. All of which is irrelevant to my question. Why were you following me?’
Eduard held out both hands in a helpless little shrug. ‘I can only say non, I was not following you. I take Aimée out for sail, then she want to go home as it too hot, so I drive her home in my rental car. Now I buy ticket at the post office for train tomorrow.’
‘Train? You’re going home?’
‘There is nothing for me here. You have made that very clear. I like spending time with my little girl. We have enjoyed good days together and she is eager to come see me later in the summer. If you can’t fly her out, I will come for her. Now it is time I go see my little boy.’
Stifling a sigh of relief, Abbie smiled. ‘I’m sorry it didn’t work out for us, but I do wish you well, Eduard. And please give my best wishes and congratulations to Marie on the birth of her son. Have you chosen a name yet?’
He shook his head. ‘She wait for me to d
ecide.’
‘Of course.’ Eduard always liked to be the one to make the decisions. Allowing him to plant a triple kiss on her cheeks in true French fashion, she stood by her car, watching as he walked away. Now she was truly free at last. But instead of the expected joy, she was swamped with sadness, for she seemed to have lost Drew as well.
On the Monday morning, after an oddly quiet weekend, Abbie was alone in the shop, Linda having taken a well-deserved day off. A short, stocky man in his fifties was her first customer, and Abbie offered her usual smiling welcome as husbands buying gifts for their wives were some of her best customers. But he was not smiling as he approached the counter. His expression was largely obliterated by a scraggy beard and a peaked cap pulled well down over his round head; despite the warmth of the day the collar of his navy duffle coat was turned right up. Little was visible of his face but a pair of piercing dark eyes.
‘Are you Abigail Myers? I see the interview in the paper saying you take over your mother’s business.’ His words were not easy to distinguish, as he spoke with an accent.
‘That’s correct,’ Abbie replied, feeling a slight twinge of unease.
‘I was companion to one of the ladies your mother visited.’
‘Ah, do you mean the one who spoke to her about a possible visit to Russia?’ Abbie asked, remembering what the journalist had told her, but the man was shaking his head.
‘I know nothing of any visit to the Fatherland.’ Looking about the shop, his eyes lighted on the amber jewellery in the display cabinet. ‘Ah, is that the stolen amber?’
‘What are you talking about? I bought it from a company in Poland, all legal and above board.’
‘No, your grandmother stole it. She owe big debt to my lady. She steal not only my lady’s jewellery but also her daughter.’
Abbie had gone quite cold. ‘That is absolutely not true. My grandmother is no thief.’ So this man must have been a companion or servant to the Countess.
He leaned across the counter towards her, his scornful smirk revealing a row of yellow teeth, several of them chipped as if he’d been in a fight. ‘I know the truth, the whole story. Your grandmother, she even get the house that should have belonged to my lady, had her husband done the right thing by her. Instead she died in penury, having lost everything. Now I need an income for having looked after your mother’s mother for all these years, and the Countess instructed me on where and how to go about getting one. If you don’t want your grandmother to spend time in jail, then you pay me money. I want the same as my lady was receiving from your mother: one hundred pounds a week. That is four hundred a month or I tell police.’
The Amber Keeper Page 31
