She was just making her way towards the front door when it was opened and two tiny white Bichon Frise dogs tore out onto the driveway. They were halfway up Evie’s legs before their owner came to stop them.
‘Olivia! Viola!’ Gloria shouted. ‘Leave our poor visitor alone.’
‘Good afternoon, Miss Temple,’ Evie said with a smile, hoping that the little dogs weren’t drawing attention to her casual jeans.
‘Evelyn?’ Miss Temple said. ‘Is that you?’
‘Yes, Miss Temple.’
‘I didn’t recognise you. You look different.’
‘It’s my hair.’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘it doesn’t suit you.’ Gloria Temple could always be counted upon to speak her mind. ‘Come along inside.’
Evie self-consciously touched her hair and then followed her client inside. She couldn’t help noticing that Gloria’s own hair was Doris Day–blonde and kissed her shoulders with the sort of sexy exuberance suited to somebody less than half her age. She was a tall and imposing woman with the kind of shoulders that had probably inspired the shoulder pad revolution of the nineteen-eighties. She was wearing a scarlet dress that dazzled the eyes and a pair of red high heels that meant that she was forever ducking her head to avoid the low beams of the house.
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t make my mind up last time,’ she said, ushering Evie into the drawing room. Blacketts Hall might have been medieval but its furnishings were modern. Where one would have expected antiques and ebony-dark furniture, there were, instead, chrome and glass tables and chairs, a blond wooden table, leather sofas and modern art in garish colours gazing down from the beamed walls. Evie had to admit that – in a strange sort of way – it worked, although why somebody with a love of all things modern would buy a fifteenth-century house was beyond her.
Sitting down on one of the leather sofas, Evie awaited instruction, watching as a young girl came in carrying a white tray on which sat a white teapot and two white mugs, a white jug full of milk and a white sugar bowl.
‘I used to adore white,’ Gloria said, motioning towards the tea things as she began pouring, ‘and they were the only colour flowers I would ever have in the house. But I think white roses are a little too virginal for someone of my advanced years, don’t you think?’
Evie swallowed. That was just the sort of question that one shouldn’t answer directly. ‘You can choose any colour you like,’ she said diplomatically.
‘And I shall. It’s just deciding which colour. You see, for my last wedding, I went simply crazy with lilies. We hired a hotel room in London and I had it stuffed with lilies. I swear the whole of central London was asphyxiated. They were so overpowering. I don’t want to make that mistake again. But roses . . .’ Her thoughts seemed to drift for a moment and the dreamy expression came over her face. ‘Roses are the very essence of romance.’
‘We think so,’ Evie said. ‘You can’t beat them.’
‘But we’re only halfway there. I might have settled on a key flower but what colour should I choose? Red is – well, too red, isn’t it? And pink is very girly.’
‘But very romantic,’ Evie dared to interject.
‘And I’ve never liked apricot much. Too wishy-washy.’
‘There’s orange and yellow,’ Evie said, turning the pages of the Album of Roses to show Gloria some of their most successful displays in orange and yellow, watching in anticipation as Gloria’s hand hovered over a page featuring a wondrous cascade of yellow and cream roses.
‘Yeeees,’ she said slowly, her eyes narrowing as she took in the images in yellow.
‘Yellow is rather underestimated,’ Evie said, ‘and yet it’s so charming and sophisticated.’
Gloria nodded. ‘I’m beginning to come round to yellow.’
‘It’s such a happy colour, don’t you think? And I know you’ll love the roses we have in our collection,’ Evie went on. ‘We have a beautiful deep yellow rose called Gainsborough. Its scent is sheer perfection – like a good old-fashioned damask. Then there’s Suffolk Dawn – it’s one of our bestsellers and it’s very popular at weddings. Its scent isn’t as strong as the Gainsborough but it is a wonderful creamy yellow – like a primrose – and is perfect both as a bud and when fully open.’
‘It sounds absolutely divine!’
‘I’ve brought our latest catalogue,’ Evie said. She plunged her hand into her voluminous handbag to retrieve it and then flipped through the pages to find the yellow roses in their collection. ‘But nothing really beats meeting them in person,’ she said, referring to the roses as if they were fellow human beings that one needed to be introduced to.
‘I should like that very much. Shall we make an appointment?’
Evie nodded enthusiastically and pulled out her diary.
Ten minutes later and Evie was driving down the back roads to Little Eleigh. She wound her window down to inhale the sweet summer air. She couldn’t wait to tell Celeste and Gertie the news about Gloria Temple’s wedding. She hadn’t told them about the first appointment she’d made with the actress but had kept the delicious secret until she was quite sure that Hamilton Roses was going to be hired. She wondered what Celeste would say when she found out and if it would go any way towards changing her mind about selling the manor.
Something else was preying on Evie’s mind, however, as she splashed through the ford and climbed the hill the other side, and she wondered if she should confess her little secret to Celeste.
She shook her head. ‘No, no,’ she said to the empty car. Now wasn’t the right time at all, was it? Anyway, she wasn’t sure that she was ready to tell anyone her little piece of news. Not just yet.
7.
Gertrude had made spaghetti Bolognese for dinner and there was an end of a crusty white loaf shared between the three sisters.
‘How did you get on in the office today?’ Gertie dared to ask as she passed the salt down the dining table. It was the second night they’d eaten in the dining room and it didn’t feel quite as formal as the night before.
‘Well, I’ve made a start but it’s going to take me more than a day to go right through everything,’ Celeste said.
‘Of course,’ Gertie said. ‘And did you think any more about the painting?’
Silence descended on the table and Gertie and Evie watched Celeste for her response. She pushed her spaghetti around her plate, making funny little circles and, finally, she looked up and nodded.
‘He’s coming tomorrow,’ she said.
‘Who’s coming tomorrow?’ Evie asked.
‘Mr Faraday from the auction house.’
‘Really?’ Gertie said, her eyes wide with surprise.
‘He’ll be here at ten o’clock.’
Gertie almost swallowed her spaghetti the wrong way.
‘What’s the matter?’ Celeste asked. ‘You agreed that we should sell the painting.’
‘I know. I just didn’t expect you to move so fast.’
‘Well, we can’t afford to hang around with the house in the state it’s in, and I suggest you make an appointment with whoever it is you’ve had visit us in the past for a quote on the work that needs doing.’
‘Ludkin and Son,’ Gertie said. ‘I’ll give him a call.’
‘He’ll probably faint when we tell him we actually want him to start work,’ Evie said. ‘But I’ve got some money coming in too. Hamilton Roses will be providing the floral arrangements for the upcoming wedding of Gloria Temple!’ she announced with a huge smile.
‘Oh, Evie! Well done!’ Gertie said.
‘I thought she was dead,’ Celeste said.
‘No, very much alive and well and eager to marry husband number four,’ Evie said, ‘amongst a profusion of yellow roses. So you see, Celly, I can provide for us all and keep this place going.’
Celeste looked at her sister. ‘That’s great news, Evie, b
ut that sort of money isn’t going to last long, is it? And even if our painting is worth something, and even if it sells for an enormous amount, we’re not going to have the money straight away and it certainly won’t last forever – not with the amount of work that needs doing to the house. We need to think about something else, some other way to bring some money in.’
‘Okay,’ Gertie said, ‘but what?’
‘I’ve been thinking about The Lodge,’ Celeste said.
‘You’re not thinking of selling The Lodge now, are you?’ Evie said aghast.
‘Not selling it,’ Celeste said. ‘Not yet at least. Look, I don’t know what state of repair it’s in but can’t we do it up and rent it out?’
Gertie frowned at her sister. ‘Well, we could if there wasn’t somebody already in it.’
‘Who’s in it?’ Celeste frowned.
‘Esther Martin,’ Gertie said, saying the name slowly as if Celeste was missing a trick. ‘Come on, Celeste! You’ve only been away three years. You might have changed, but things around here haven’t changed at all.’
‘She’s still in there?’ Celeste cried.
‘Of course she is,’ Gertie said. ‘Where else would she be?’
Celeste rolled her eyes. The Lodge was the perfect solution to a good, steady income. It had two bedrooms and a private garden and would bring in a good rent from a paying tenant.
‘And we can’t just kick her out,’ Gertie said.
‘We could if there was somewhere else for her to go,’ Celeste said.
Evie was still eating her spaghetti but Gertie had stopped. She was watching Celeste closely.
‘It seems absolutely absurd that we have all these empty rooms in this house and Esther’s inhabiting a place that could be earning us good money immediately,’ Celeste said.
‘What are you saying?’ Gertie said.
‘I’m saying that it would make better sense if Esther moved in here with us so that we could rent out The Lodge.’
‘Oh, you’ve got to be kidding!’ Evie said.
‘Why would I be kidding? It makes perfect financial sense. After all, we don’t really want random lodgers in our home, do we?’
‘And what do you call Esther, then?’ Gertie asked.
‘A friend of the family,’ Celeste said.
‘Friend?’ Evie said with a wild sort of laugh. ‘She might have been a friend to our grandparents but don’t forget she had that huge falling out with Mum.’
‘Yes,’ Gertie said. ‘You must remember hearing the story, Celly? Esther’s only daughter was in love with Dad and, when he married Mum, she became a missionary in South America and then died of a fever.’
Celeste nodded, remembering the fate of poor Sally Martin.
‘But Esther doesn’t hold a grudge against us, does she? I mean, all that stuff was years ago and it had nothing to do with us,’ Celeste said. ‘And, if she hated us all so much, why did she go on living in The Lodge?’
‘She had nowhere else to go,’ Gertie said. ‘She put all her money into some dodgy pension, and Grandpa Arthur took pity on her and said she could stay in The Lodge as long as she liked.’
‘And she took him at his word,’ Celeste said.
‘I don’t see what we can do about it now,’ Gertie said. ‘It wouldn’t be right to turn her out.’
‘But we have all these rooms here,’ Celeste said. ‘There’s the guest bedroom with its ensuite. It’s absolutely huge. She’d be happy enough in there, surely?’
‘But what about meals? She’d be using our kitchen, wouldn’t she?’ Evie said, her young face creased with anxiety.
‘It’s a big enough kitchen, Evie,’ Celeste said, ‘and I’m sure we wouldn’t all be using it at once.’
‘Oh, I don’t like the sound of this at all,’ Evie said.
Gertie turned to Celeste. ‘She once gave Evie a scare when she was little. We were playing by The Lodge and Esther came charging down her path with a broom in hand to chase us away. Said we were making too much noise. Evie thought she was some mad old witch.’
‘I did not think she was some mad old witch!’ Evie said with a pout.
‘No, of course not. That’s why you just cried solidly for two hours afterwards!’
‘Look,’ Celeste said, interrupting quickly, ‘nothing’s been decided for sure yet –’
‘Really?’ Evie said sceptically.
‘I have to go and speak with Esther and see how she feels about things but I really think it’s the best way forward. The Lodge is a perfect little home and I think it could make us a really good income,’ Celeste said. ‘We’re not a charity, and we’re not Grandpa Arthur and shouldn’t be expected to honour his promise.’
Gertie and Evie stared at Celeste.
‘Don’t look at me like that. I know what you’re thinking – that I’m some hard-hearted harridan,’ she said. ‘But I’m not. I’m just trying to sort things out.’
‘But there must be a better way to go about it – a nicer way?’ Evie said.
‘If you think of one, let me know,’ Celeste said, pushing her chair out behind her and leaving the room, Frinton trotting lightly behind her.
Celeste awoke in the middle of the night, her heart racing with a sort of nervous energy at the thought of what was going to happen the next day. She switched on her bedside lamp and, immediately, Frinton was awake, his head rising from the rug. She lay perfectly still for a moment, her eyes scanning the undulating ceiling of the old bedroom, but Frinton wanted to know what was going on and, with one light leap, he was up on the bed, pushing his cold wet nose into her face.
‘Oh, Frinton!’ she complained but she was secretly pleased to have the little long-faced companion. With a sigh, she swung her legs out of bed and reached for a jumper.
The manor was not the sort of house to walk around in the middle of the night if one was easily spooked. The dark furniture loomed up out of the shadows like malevolent presences but Celeste wasn’t perturbed by such things.
A table lamp was always left on in the hallway and Celeste inched along the dark landing quietly so as not to disturb her sisters. Frinton’s nails clicked across the wooden floorboards as they made their way towards the staircase and down into the hall. The comforting tick of the longcase clock greeted her, and she opened the door into the living room and switched on the lamp – the one that sat on the table next to the Fantin-Latour painting. At once, the colours leapt into life. As she stared deeply into its warm depths, once again she had the strange sensation that she could almost smell the flowers.
Could she really bear to part with this painting? Wouldn’t it be a far better option to live in a house with half the ceiling on the floor?
She thought about how much her grandparents had adored the old house, choosing things like paintings to adorn the walls and bits of furniture picked up at antique shops and local vintage fairs to enhance the beauty of the rooms. They’d made it into the perfect family home even if they hadn’t always had the funds to do every single little job that needed doing.
Penelope, on the other hand, had treated the manor as simply a place to run her business from. Any profits had either gone back into the business or were spent on frivolous things like clothes. The house had never been deemed important enough to invest in and the fallout from that was now left for Celeste and her sisters to sort out.
Celeste suddenly felt the friendly dampness of Frinton’s nose on her bare leg and took pity on the poor dog.
‘Let’s go back to bed,’ she said, and he shot into the hallway and galloped up the stairs. Celeste took one last look at the Fantin-Latour and, feeling like a traitor, switched the lamp off and plunged the painting into darkness once more.
8.
Evie was just burning some scrambled eggs when Frinton started barking upstairs.
‘Is he here?’ she shouted, removing
the smoking pan from the stove and tearing out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
Celeste, who’d been in the study, now walked into the hall. Gertrude joined them and the three of them walked over to the window and looked out at their visitor.
‘Look at his car!’ Evie said, admiration in her voice.
‘It’s a vintage MG,’ Gertie said as her eyes took in the wonder. It was hunter green and the pale roof had been rolled back. They all watched as the driver parked and got out.
He was tall and had dark red hair, which was lightly tousled from his airy drive through the Suffolk lanes, and he was wearing a dark navy suit with a white shirt which was unbuttoned at the throat. He looked to be somewhere in his mid-thirties.
‘Isn’t he a bit young?’ Evie asked. ‘I expected him to be older.’
‘As long as he knows what he’s doing,’ Celeste said.
‘I wish we didn’t have to have him here,’ Evie said.
Celeste turned to look at her sister. ‘We’ve been through all this, Evie. It’s the only option.’
‘Don’t you two start again,’ Gertie said.
‘I’m not starting,’ Evie said. ‘But you know how I feel about all this.’
‘Yes,’ Celeste said. ‘I know how you feel.’
The three sisters watched as the man took a folder and a canvas bag out of the car and looked up at the house.
‘Haven’t you two got something to do?’ Celeste said.
‘No,’ they both said in unison.
‘Well, you’re making me nervous,’ she said.
‘The painting is as much ours as it is yours,’ Evie said.
Gertie sighed and took pity on her sister. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll leave you to it. Come on, Evie.’
‘But I think we should at least meet him,’ Evie said.
‘Okay, we’ll say a very quick hello and then leave Celeste to get on with things.’
The knocker sounded, startling each of the sisters even though they’d been expecting it. Celeste took a deep breath and went to answer it.
The Rose Girls Page 6
