The Lost Daughters: A moving saga of womanhood

by Whitmee, Jeanne

  He sighed. ‘Oh, dear. It’s worse than I thought. I really am in the dog house, aren’t I?’

  Johnny had come out into the hall and he turned to her. ‘Mrs Johnson, will you please tell this young lady that I badly need her to come out to dinner with me?’

  Johnny looked unsmilingly from one to the other. ‘Off you go and change, Cathy. I’m sure you don’t want to keep Mr Cavelle waiting, do you?’

  Gerald looked at her, his head on one side. ‘Surely your essay or whatever it is will wait for a couple of hours, won’t it?’

  The two of them stood looking at her. She was outnumbered. She couldn’t keep up her pretence of being too busy without looking ridiculous. Without a word she turned and climbed the stairs. When she had gone Gerald turned to Johnny.

  ‘Any idea why she’s upset, Mrs Johnson?’

  ‘She isn’t a child any longer, Mr Cavelle,’ Johnny told him frankly. ‘She’s a young woman. You can’t fob her off with treats and promises. And she’s still very insecure. She needs to know where she is.’ And without another word she turned and went back into the kitchen.

  *

  He took her to a Chinese restaurant. Cathy had never eaten Chinese food before and she was intrigued by all the little dishes and the delicious delicate flavours. Gerald watched with an indulgent smile as she tried first one thing, then another, struggling manfully with the chopsticks. She had changed so much in the few months since he last saw her. She was taller and her slender figure had developed softly rounded curves. Her face had lost its blurred childishness. The delicate bones were more defined now, with gentle shadows that accentuated her green eyes. Mrs Johnson had been right. Since he had seen her last Cathy had grown from a schoolgirl into an attractive young woman with the tantalising promise of real beauty yet to come. Yet through it all she hadn’t lost that quality of untouched innocence he found so piquant. Compared to the sophisticated women he knew she was as refreshing as a spring morning.

  ‘Tell me what you’ve been doing with yourself since Christmas?’ he invited.

  ‘Nothing very much. I’ve been too busy working.’ She went on to tell him a little about her course and about the films that she and Matthew had seen — the dances they’d been to.

  He listened politely for a while, then said suddenly, ‘Cathy, there’s something I want you to see. I’ve found a house. It’s in Suffolk, near the sea. Will you come and look at it with me?’

  She looked up at him, the prawn she had been trying to convey to her mouth dropping back onto her plate. ‘You’re leaving London?’

  ‘Yes. At least, I’m thinking seriously about it.’ He dabbed at his lips with his napkin and pushed his plate away. ‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I’ve been thinking of buying a house in the country. I’ve never had a real home, you know. I seem to have spent my entire life in transit.’

  ‘What about when you were a child?’ she asked.

  ‘My grandfather brought me up,’ he told her. ‘At least he paid other people to do it. He lived alone in a large house in Manchester where he owned a cotton mill. My mother was his only daughter and he hadn’t approved of her marriage to my father, apparently. They were both killed in a train crash in 1923 when I was two years old.’ He smiled wryly. ‘I daresay he saw it as divine retribution. I don’t remember either of them at all.’

  Cathy’s heart was stirred at the thought of Gerald losing his parents as a baby. ‘So your grandfather adopted you?’

  He nodded. ‘Out of a sense of duty more than anything else, I think. There was no one else to take me you see. He certainly never showed me any affection. I was raised by a series of kindly young women who had a disconcerting habit of going off and getting married just when I was beginning to depend on them.’

  Cathy was silent for a moment. ‘I thought I was unlucky, losing my mother when I was little,’ she said. ‘But at least I had Dad. But your grandfather paid for your musical education though?’

  ‘Yes.’ Gerald picked up his glass and regarded the clear red colour of his wine. ‘I think he felt that as it was the only talent I had he’d better foster it,’ he said with a hint of bitterness. ‘Couldn’t have his only grandchild turning out a total failure and disgracing him.’ He grinned wryly at her. ‘Besides, I daresay he was relieved to get me out of the house.’

  Cathy watched thoughtfully as he took a long drink of his wine. She pictured the lonely little boy in the big old house with no one to read him a bedtime story or play with him. How sad it must have been never to have known a parent’s love. It had obviously affected Gerald deeply. ‘So now you’re going to have a home of your own at last. Tell me about the house you’ve found,’ she invited.

  ‘I didn’t have a very clear idea of what I wanted when I set out,’ he admitted. ‘Thatched roof and roses round the door, I suppose. Everyone’s dream of an idyllic country home. Then I found this one. It’s nothing like what I had in mind and it’s far larger than I need. But it’s so beautiful, Cathy. I fell in love with it the moment I set eyes on it and I just couldn’t get it out of my mind. Then I had an idea. I’d already thought I might teach, so why not buy the house and turn it into a kind of music school? I could coach especially talented young pianists for the concert platform as I’d planned, but if I buy this house I could make it into a kind of musical retreat; organise weekend seminars — concerts and master classes — that kind of thing.’

  ‘It sounds interesting, but I don’t quite see where I come in.’

  He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘You are the closest to a family I’ve got. That’s important to me and I’d like your opinion. Before I can even begin to think about this project there will be an enormous amount of work to be done. I thought you might be interested — have some ideas. You know, the woman’s angle.’ He laughed, looking at her plate of cooling food. ‘And I think you’d better abandon those chopsticks and eat up your dinner. Mrs Johnson will be wanting you home. I think I’m already in her black books as it is.’

  ‘Oh, but I want to hear more about the house. I can’t wait to see it!’

  ‘Then you’ll come with me — this weekend — Sunday?’

  She laughed as she obediently resorted to a fork and began to finish her food. ‘I can see that if I want my curiosity satisfied I’m going to have to.’

  As she finished her meal she reflected that tonight she had learned something else about Gerald. The more she was with him, the more she understood him. He was so easy to be with. She had missed him — blamed him for staying away so long. Yet now she saw that he had been busy trying to build a new life for himself. It must take courage to do that alone. To start again when your name had been famous. How selfish she had been to think only of herself. She thought excitedly of the house he planned to buy and the fact that he actually valued her opinion. And she couldn’t wait till Sunday.

  *

  The day dawned dull and cloudy, but the low cloud thinned to a fine mist which soon melted away to reveal a clear blue sky. As the sun rose higher a fine heat haze danced on the road ahead as Gerald drove the Jaguar eastwards. As they drove he told her more about the house and the village.

  ‘It’s called Melfordleigh. Only a few houses, a church and a pub. It’s the kind of place that sailors, fishermen and artists like. It’s a pretty village. Two long winding streets dip down towards the sea and there are lots of little lanes running off, with surprising glimpses of little gardens and courtyards full of colour.’

  ‘And the sea? Is there a beach?’

  ‘Not as such. There are little creeks that run out to the sea — perfect for mooring boats. And there’s a long finger of land that curves out to sea for about half a mile. It makes a wonderful walk. But the best part is that it’s quite unspoilt. The tourists haven’t filled it with amusement arcades and whelk stalls, thank God. Luckily it’s far too quiet and tucked away for the day trippers’ tastes too.’

  ‘And your house — the one you hope to buy?’ Cathy found his enthusiasm infectious.


  ‘It stands in about two acres of grounds, at the top of the village. There’s a stream running through — what used to be the millstream actually. The watermill used to be downstream and at one time Cuckoo Lodge was the miller’s house.’

  ‘Cuckoo Lodge? I like the name.’

  He pulled a face. ‘Do you? I thought I might change it. I’m afraid my friends might think I’m cuckoo, burying myself in the country.’

  ‘But you’re sure it’s what you want?’ Cathy asked.

  ‘I’m sure. For me it seems the perfect answer. This way I can still be involved in music and have the peace and quiet of the country too.’ He smiled at her wryly. ‘I don’t doubt that the very friends who’ll laugh the loudest will be only too happy to come and stay once I’ve restored the place and moved in.’

  ‘Weekend house parties? Sounds like fun.’

  ‘Not unless they’re willing to work,’ he told her. ‘This project is going to be my living, remember. If they come they’ll have to be willing to take a class or give a lecture.’

  ‘So — tell me some more about the house. How old is it?’

  ‘The main part is Tudor, but there’s an extra wing that was built on in Queen Anne’s reign.’

  ‘As old as that? And how big?’

  ‘About six bedrooms upstairs. Downstairs it’s difficult to say. Some walls may have to be taken out. There seems to have been a lot of alteration over the years. Goodness knows what might be lurking behind the hideous modern fireplaces. I’m hoping for some inglenooks.’

  Cathy found herself looking forward to seeing it all for herself. She smiled at him. ‘You make it all sound so exciting,’ she said. ‘I can’t wait.’

  When Gerald announced that they had arrived and drove in through broken gates that hung drunkenly on rusting hinges, Cathy felt a stab of disappointment. They stopped next to a tumbledown corrugated iron shed and Gerald switched off the engine and turned to her.

  ‘That’s what is laughingly termed the garage. At the moment it’s blocking the view, but once it’s down you’ll be able to see the house from the gate. Come on.’ He got out of the car, looking as excited as a child.

  Cathy followed him hesitantly along a path of trodden grass, wondering what he could possibly see in a place as rundown as this. She’d had such high expectations and now that they’d actually arrived the place was such a let down. Then, as they turned the corner of the disintegrating garage, she stopped short and caught her breath. In front of her, its brickwork glowing rose red in the summer sunshine, was Cuckoo Lodge. Long and low, its two storeys were topped by a russet-tiled roof. Two rows of windows glinted at them like welcoming eyes.

  ‘Like it?’ Gerald was studying her face carefully.

  She nodded, the house's magic spell rendering her speechless. It seemed to take on an almost tangible magnetism, reaching out to her invitingly as she stood there staring. ‘Oh — I see what you mean,’ she breathed. ‘It’s lovely.’

  He was fishing the keys out of an inside pocket. ‘Right, come on then, let’s go in and see what you think of the inside.’

  The heavy front door creaked back on its hinges, opening immediately on to a long, low-ceilinged room. At first they could hardly see anything, but when Gerald folded back the shutters on the windows the sun streamed in. Their footsteps raised dust which danced in motes along the beams of golden light. Now that she could see, Cathy saw that at one end of the room a huge Victorian fireplace almost filled one wall, while at the other a door stood open on to a square hall out of which rose a staircase.

  ‘How odd that the front door leads straight into the living room,’ she remarked.

  Gerald nodded. ‘I mentioned that to the agent. It seems there have been many alterations over the years and at one time the place was actually used as a pub.’

  Cathy looked into all the rooms. There were two others downstairs besides the large living room; both of them looking on to the back of the house. Their windows had views of the tangled garden, rank with couch grass and weeds that reached halfway up the window frames. The kitchen was a built-on lean-to affair. It was a nightmare, with only the basic facilities — a stone sink, equipped with a hand pump, a massive iron mangle and a rotting pine dresser. ‘Does it have mains water and drainage?’ she asked. ‘And what about gas and electricity?’ Dropping to her knees, she inspected a damp patch near the skirting board. ‘Looks like rising damp,’ she said. ‘You’ll be lucky if there isn’t dry rot in these boards. The place has probably never had a dampcourse.’

  Gerald’s eyebrows rose. ‘I’d no idea you were so knowledgeable,’ he said. ‘I’m impressed. I knew I was right to bring you.’

  Standing up, Cathy dusted off her hands and gave him a long, level look. ‘All this is part of my course at college. If you’re going to patronise me, Gerald, I’ll go and wait for you in the car.’

  Suitably chastened, he reached out to touch her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry.’

  She stepped aside, dislodging his hand with the merest flick of her shoulder. Walking into the hall, she asked: ‘Shall we look upstairs?’

  There were six rooms on the floor above. Gerald remarked that two would need to be converted to bathrooms, but Cathy disagreed.

  ‘If you want to keep all six rooms you could easily have two with en suite bathrooms,’ she said. ‘They’re certainly big enough to be able to spare a little space. And that massive cupboard on the landing would make another for general use. You’d need to put in central heating too,’ she mused. ‘And the windows would probably need replacing. A house of this age is probably listed, which means you’d have to apply for permission and abide by their rules.’ She looked at him, her head on one side. ‘Have you checked the roof timbers for woodworm and beetle?’

  Gerald began to laugh. ‘Forgive me, Cathy, but I can’t get over you. I shan’t need a surveyor at this rate. On the other hand, I’m only just beginning to realise how much all this is going to cost me.’ He pulled her to him and kissed the top of her head. ‘Let’s go and find some lunch. I can’t face any more of this on an empty stomach.’

  Cathy had quite surprised herself. She was only just realising how much information from the lectures on architecture she had actually absorbed. And putting it into practical use was much more enjoyable than she could ever have imagined. Already she was picturing Cuckoo Lodge as it could be and the prospect of having a hand in its restoration filled her with excited anticipation.

  They left the car where it was and walked down through the village. Cathy adored it. Off the steep, winding main street, little alleyways led to pretty cottages, their gardens and little courtyards filled with flowers. There were surprises everywhere. When they reached the bottom of the hill the air was fresh and invigorating with the salt smell of the sea. Facing them, a forest of masts lined the quayside where dozens of boats were moored. Creeks separated by banks of glistening wet sand wound like silver threads out to the sea.

  Facing the quay was the Admiral Nelson, the most amazing building that Cathy had ever seen. The first-floor frontage was a replica of a ship’s fo’c’sle, its dark timber decorated with brightly painted mermaids and dolphins. And the front entrance of the hostelry was guarded by a voluptuous figurehead with flowing blonde locks and an impossibly large bosom with nipples the size of oranges.

  ‘The landlord tells me they were all that was salvaged from a ship that was wrecked off the coast here in 1811,’ Gerald told her. ‘If we’re lucky we might get a table in the window with a view of the quay.’

  They were lucky. The landlord remembered Gerald from earlier visits. Being a classical music lover he had also recognised him as a celebrity, but, guessing that he was off-duty, tactfully kept the recognition to himself.

  The food was excellent. Sitting in the fo’c’sle window was like being at sea and Cathy enjoyed it very much as she told Gerald enthusiastically.

  He enjoyed her pleasure, appreciative of the fact that she was still young enough to behave so openly. ‘And
the house?’ He looked at her enquiringly. ‘Tell me the truth. Do you think I’m a fool even to consider it?’

  She looked at him carefully before deciding that he really did want her opinion. ‘Well — there is an awful lot that needs doing,’ she said guardedly. ‘It’s going to cost you a lot of money.’

  ‘Yes, I’d already worked that out for myself. What I want to know is — will it be worth it?’

  She smiled. ‘I think so. There’s a certain something about the place. It’s as though it wants you to save its life. You, I mean. Not just anyone. Standing there, looking at it, you can almost feel it begging you.’ She glanced up at him. ‘I expect you think I’m being silly?’

  ‘Not at all. I knew I was right to bring you. I felt that the first time I saw it.’

  ‘Of course you’ll need to get experts in to advise you,’ she went on practically. ‘I mean, it would be silly to run yourself into unnecessary expense. It’s a sad thought, but the place might have gone beyond help.’

  He nodded decisively. ‘I’ll get on to someone tomorrow. I’ve got the name of a reliable firm of architects and surveyors. I just wanted you to confirm the hunch I had about the place. You’ve done that. Thanks, Cathy.’

  ‘I don’t know why I’m encouraging you to buy Cuckoo Lodge,’ she said. ‘If you do, I don’t suppose I’ll see much of you.’

  He looked up at her sharply. ‘Why do you say that?’ She shrugged. ‘You’ll want to supervise the restoration to begin with. Then when you move in you’ll be busy arranging your new life — your music students and weekend seminars.’

  ‘I won’t lose touch with you though.’

  ‘Won’t you?’ she said wistfully. ‘You did before. I’ve hardly seen you since last Christmas.’

  He averted his eyes from her direct green gaze. ‘That was different. I was out of the country for much of that time.’ ‘Of course. Sorry.’ She spooned sugar into her coffee and stirred. It was none of her business what he did with his free time, of course. And yet he had said she was the nearest he had to family. In that respect they were both in the same boat. Suddenly she looked up and said, ‘Gerald, you must have known my mother.’