The Rose Girls

by Victoria Connelly

  Celeste was just about to ask how it was complicated when her mobile rang. ‘Rats. I’ve got to take this,’ she said. ‘I’ve been trying to speak to this guy all day.’ She got up from the table and squeezed Gertie’s shoulder before she left the room.

  ‘No time for love, then,’ Gertie said to the retreating back of her sister.

  That evening, after everybody had gone to bed, Celeste was awakened by a noise from the room next door, which was a little unnerving because that had been her mother’s bedroom.

  She switched the bedside lamp on and looked at her alarm clock. It was a little after two. Groaning, she got out of bed, grabbed a jumper to put over her nightdress and shoved her feet into her slippers. The last place she wanted to visit in the middle of the night was her mother’s old room. It was pretty much the last place she wanted to visit at any time, but night time just made the prospect even more harrowing.

  ‘Frinton,’ she called softly, but the little dog didn’t stir. ‘Traitor!’ she added, listening to his snores before leaving the room.

  She walked along the sloping, creaking floorboards of the hallway and saw the light spilling out from her mother’s room.

  ‘Evie?’ she said in surprise when she saw who was in there.

  An ashen-faced Evelyn turned around as Celeste entered the room and it was instantly apparent that her sister had been crying.

  ‘What are you doing in here?’ Celeste asked. But it seemed obvious what Evie had been doing because the wardrobe door was wide open.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she said in a tiny voice which reminded Celeste, once again, how very young her sister was.

  ‘So you came in here?’ Celeste asked, her head cocked to one side.

  Evie didn’t say anything for a moment, her hand reaching inside the wardrobe to stroke the clothes that were hanging so neatly there.

  ‘I miss her,’ she said at last. ‘It doesn’t seem real that she’s gone, does it? The house doesn’t feel right without her.’

  Celeste watched as Evie pulled out a red velvet jacket with gold buttons. It was a typical Penelope item: bright, beautiful and very much a scene stealer. There was the little tartan skirt she had worn so much too. It was far too short on her, making her look like a school girl – which, Celeste suspected, Penelope had liked.

  ‘Do you remember this?’ Evie asked, pulling out a silk dress in emerald green. ‘She looked so pretty in it. She wore it to your sixteenth birthday party, remember?’

  ‘I remember,’ Celeste said coldly. ‘But I’m surprised you do. You were so young.’

  ‘I remember it,’ Evie said defensively but then she frowned. ‘Or maybe I’m remembering the photos. I’m not sure now. Anyway, she looked so beautiful in it. Like a Hollywood star.’

  Celeste watched as her sister ran the silky material through her fingers, her expression wistful and her eyes misty with tears.

  ‘You should have it, Celly,’ she said suddenly. ‘You’re the same height and size as Mum was and it would really suit you.’

  ‘I don’t want it,’ Celeste said.

  ‘But it’s so beautiful,’ she said, pulling it out of the wardrobe and holding it in front of her so that it shimmered in the light of the room, ‘and it seems so sad that it won’t be worn again.’

  ‘I really don’t want the dress, Evie.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘I would never wear it.’

  Their eyes met and there was something in Celeste’s tone that seemed to register with Evie. She put the dress back in the wardrobe.

  ‘I think we should go to bed, don’t you?’ Celeste said and Evie nodded, closing the wardrobe door before crossing the room. Just before Celeste switched off the light, she noticed the gold-framed photo on the bedside table. It was a picture of Penelope.

  ‘Of course,’ Celeste said.

  ‘What?’ Evie said.

  ‘Nothing.’

  It took Celeste hours to fall asleep once she’d said goodnight to Evie. Her mind kept spiralling into the past and back to the day when her mother had worn the emerald green dress.

  ‘My dress,’ Celeste whispered into the night. She hadn’t wanted to tell Evie the full story because she wasn’t sure her sister would believe it. She still idolised Penelope, and Celeste really didn’t want to shatter the precious memories that she was still clinging onto so dearly.

  If only she had some precious memories of her own, she thought. Most of hers were so painful, including the one about the emerald dress.

  Her father had taken her shopping on the eve of her sixteenth birthday and Celeste had known exactly what she’d wanted: a brand new dress – something beautiful and sophisticated. The emerald green silk had been perfect, floating over her mature curves and making her feel truly beautiful for the first time in her life. But her mother had been appalled.

  ‘It’s far too stylish for you,’ Penelope had told her. ‘You won’t be able to carry it off.’ And Celeste had watched helplessly as her mother had taken the dress from her.

  What she hadn’t bargained for was that Penelope would wear it herself, floating down the stairs as Celeste’s friends arrived for the party. Of course, everyone had thought that Penelope had looked fantastic.

  ‘You’re so lucky to have a mum like her,’ one of her friends had told her. Celeste had simply smiled, holding her tongue and wishing she’d never bothered with the party at all.

  Then there’d been the humiliation over the cake. Celeste had asked for a pink heart-shaped cake but, after tea, her mother had brought in a funny green one in the shape of a frog. As if that wasn’t bad enough, one of its eyes was missing because it had been left out in the kitchen and one of the cats had jumped up onto the table and eaten it.

  Celeste cringed as she remembered the inappropriateness of it all. It was so obviously a child’s cake and, at sixteen, Celeste had definitely not been a child. She’d later found out that Penelope had forgotten to order a cake and, when she’d remembered, she’d gone into town and the frog cake had been the only one she’d been able to find.

  Then there’d been her shouting to keep the noise down. It wasn’t as if they’d been making a lot of noise either. They’d just been a few excitable girls trying to have a party but it had all been too much for Penelope, who’d soon announced that she had a headache and had made a big scene of swooning onto the sofa in front of everyone, yelling for Celeste to get her some tablets.

  Celeste closed her eyes, remembering the scene as if it was happening again right in front of her. Of course, Penelope had managed to make a miraculous recovery in time to take over the dance floor they’d set up in the hallway. It hadn’t been ordinary dancing either. Penelope Hamilton had been doing a strange sort of flirty dance and had zoned in on the one boy Celeste had invited to her party.

  She could still see his bright red face now as her mother had taken his hands and made him dance with her, cheek to cheek. And Celeste had stood there in the shadows, wearing her tired old summer dress with the blackberry stain just above the right knee, watching her mother slow dance in the emerald green dress with her first boyfriend at her sixteenth birthday party.

  15.

  The days of summer slowly slipped by. Celeste was working her way steadily through the paperwork and accounts in the study, doing her best to restore some sort of order to the Hamilton Rose empire. Gertie was busy in the garden, keeping the borders immaculate for visitors and running the sales of container roses, and Evie was juggling Gloria Temple’s wedding preparations alongside orders that were flooding in from hotels, restaurants and romantic members of the public.

  The summer sky had remained a perfect eggshell blue for days now, with just hints of wispy white cloud and, although most rosarians adored such weather, Gertie couldn’t help bemoaning the fact that the lawn had turned from green to amber and no amount of watering seemed to help. It was the price
one paid for a good summer in the Stour Valley but at least it was better than grey clouds and endless rain which balled up the blooms on the roses so that they refused to open. No, the sunshine was most welcome.

  What wasn’t so welcome was the day that Celeste had been dreading, the day when Esther Martin was leaving The Lodge and moving into the manor.

  ‘This is the last meal we’ll have in private,’ Evie said in the kitchen that morning.

  ‘Don’t be so melodramatic,’ Celeste told her. ‘We’ll probably not even know she’s there. I bet she gets up at the crack of dawn and will be in and out of the kitchen before we’re even awake. Anyway, if you want to try and save the house, this is one of the ways to do it.’

  ‘So, who’s moving in to The Lodge?’ Gertie asked.

  ‘I’ve arranged for somebody to come and give it a bit of a makeover first,’ Celeste said. ‘Just freshen it up a bit. Esther’s been in it such a long time, and the carpets and wallpaper were pretty tatty as far as I could see when I visited.’

  ‘But you’re putting it on the rental market through that agent?’ Gertie asked.

  Celeste nodded. ‘They know all about contracts and checking up on people. I thought it would be safer.’

  ‘I hope you’re allowing pets,’ Evie said. ‘I can’t imagine trying to find somewhere to rent which didn’t allow animals. It would be horrible.’

  ‘Pets are allowed,’ Celeste said, bending to tickle Frinton behind his left ear. She smiled as he pushed his head towards her, as if to get as close as possible to the tickle.

  ‘That’s something at least,’ Evie said.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ Celeste asked.

  Evie sighed. ‘I just don’t see the point of moving Esther into the manor if you’re seriously thinking of selling it at some point. What would happen to Esther then?’

  ‘I haven’t thought that far ahead if you want the truth,’ Celeste said, ‘but renting out The Lodge is a good short-term answer to making some money to pay off some of the outstanding bills.’

  ‘Well, I don’t envy you the job of settling Esther in,’ Evie said.

  ‘Ah,’ Celeste said in the kind of tone that instantly made Evie feel anxious. ‘I meant to ask you earlier. Can you please take care of things?’

  Evie’s mouth fell open. ‘You’re kidding, right?’

  Celeste shook her head. ‘Esther Martin absolutely loathes me.’

  ‘Well, she doesn’t exactly adore me!’ Evie pointed out.

  ‘But you’re going to have to do it. I’ve got some calls to make.’

  ‘Celly! Don’t be so mean!’

  ‘I’m not being mean – I’m being practical.’

  Evie huffed and pouted. ‘This is so unfair. Why do I always get the really horrid jobs?’

  ‘You don’t,’ Celeste told her. ‘When was the last time you had to sort out an overdraft or ring a supplier who hasn’t been paid for eight months and explain how sorry you are? And when did you last have a look in the septic tank and get that sorted? Or went up into the attics to make sure that the deathwatch beetles weren’t back?’

  ‘Yeah? And when was the last time you held a bowl all night whilst Mum was sick into it? Or had to carry her upstairs because she was too frail to walk?’ Evie cried.

  A dreadful silence fell between them.

  ‘Evie –’

  ‘I’m going,’ Evie said. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll do your dirty work for you. I’m used to it.’

  The small removal lorry pulled up outside the hall at eleven o’clock that morning and Esther’s bits of furniture and boxes were unloaded and carried through to the room that she’d been allocated on the ground floor. It seemed a small collection for a lifetime but, then again, The Lodge was a small home and the room she was moving into was even smaller. But even though it was larger than many of the rooms in the manor and had its own en suite, there wouldn’t be much room left over by the time everything had been put in place.

  ‘Mrs Martin?’ Evie said, holding her hand out to greet her as she walked across the driveway with a small handbag over her shoulder and a walking stick in her hand. Mrs Martin didn’t smile. She didn’t even raise her eyes to acknowledge Evie’s presence.

  ‘Follow me,’ Evie said. ‘It’s not too far to walk.’

  ‘I can walk for miles if I so choose,’ Esther barked.

  ‘Right,’ Evie said, not for one moment believing her. She’d never once seen Esther Martin walking the footpaths surrounding the manor. She seemed to live permanently behind closed doors and it was hard to imagine her hopping over a stile with that walking stick.

  They reached the room where the removal men had placed the furniture. Evie had to admit that it looked very homey with the pretty iron bed in the corner and the yellow sofa and winged chairs placed so that the occupant could enjoy an unrivalled view of the garden beyond.

  ‘It’s one of my favourite views from the manor,’ Evie said, looking out across the moat towards the rose walk with its arches covered in pink and white climbers and ramblers. ‘I think you’ll be very comfortable here, don’t you?’

  Esther didn’t reply. Instead, she sat down heavily in one of the winged chairs and let out a sigh as if all the air in her body was leaving her.

  ‘Would you like me to help with anything?’ Evie asked, looking around at the boxes on the floor.

  ‘What?’ Esther said abruptly.

  ‘Would you like me to help you unpack?’ Evie tried again.

  ‘No,’ she barked. ‘I don’t want a Hamilton poking their nose through my things.’

  Evie sighed. She was finding this all very trying. ‘Okay,’ she said, doing her best to remain calm. ‘Would you like me to make you a cup of tea, then?’

  ‘I can make one myself,’ she said. ‘I’m not a complete invalid.’

  ‘I didn’t say you were. I merely asked –’

  ‘I said no!’

  ‘Okay!’ Evie barked back and then bit her lip. She’d promised that she wasn’t going to lose her cool but had failed miserable. She took a deep breath. ‘I hope you like the way we’ve arranged your pieces of furniture. We can always move things if you don’t.’

  ‘Then move them back to The Lodge,’ she said.

  ‘I’m afraid we can’t do that.’

  ‘That’s my home. Your grandfather promised me that house as long as I live.’

  ‘I know,’ Evie said, ‘and I’m really sorry, but things are rather desperate here and we need the money.’

  ‘That’s a poor excuse for breaking a promise.’

  It’s the only one we’ve got,’ Evie said.

  ‘Why can’t you sell something?’

  ‘We’re doing that as well. We’re having to part with some of our paintings.’

  Esther looked appalled, her bright eyes seeming to spear Evie with their intensity. ‘Not the rose paintings?’

  Evie nodded. ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘But your grandfather adored those paintings.’

  ‘I know,’ Evie said. ‘It’s not been easy parting with them. I really wish we didn’t have to but there’s so much that needs doing to keep this place going.’

  Esther still didn’t look convinced. ‘There’s always something you can do.’

  ‘I’ll show you the north wing sometime,’ Evie said. ‘See if you can come up with any miracle solutions.’

  It was then that an opened box caught Evie’s eye. It was large and looked heavy, and Evie saw that it contained books. A lot of books. Instinctively, her hand moved forward and she cocked her head to one side, reading the titles as she lifted them up. There was Nancy Mitford’s The Pursuit of Love, there was Stella Gibbons’s Cold Comfort Farm and a couple of novels by Barbara Pym. Evie frowned. She didn’t know as much about literature as Gertie but she recognised that all these books were comedies. She smile
d. She hadn’t had Esther Martin down as a devourer of comedies.

  ‘Put those down!’ Esther suddenly barked from out of the depths of the winged chair. Evie sighed and returned the books to their box.

  ‘I can help you unpack these if you like. Gertie always says that books furnish a room.’

  ‘They furnished The Lodge up until yesterday,’ Esther said.

  Evie chose not to rise to this. ‘Maybe I could borrow them sometime. I don’t often get time to read but I should like to give them a go.’

  Esther turned around and glared at her. ‘If this is your crass way of trying to make amends for the indignation of moving me out of my home then it’s not working. Now, leave me alone.’

  Evie blanched at the rudeness of the woman and left the room, closing the door firmly behind her and resisting the urge to slam it. Esther Martin might be rude but Evie certainly wasn’t.

  She came back a few minutes later with a cup of tea on a tray alongside a pretty pink china jug of milk and a matching sugar bowl with silver spoon.

  ‘I said I didn’t want a cup of tea,’ Esther said as soon as she saw it.

  ‘No, you didn’t,’ Evie said. ‘You said you didn’t want me to make you one but I decided to ignore you and make you one anyway.’ She placed the tray on a footstool in front on her. ‘I’ll let you add your own milk and sugar, okay?’

  Esther gave a sort of disgruntled harrumph and Evie smiled. ‘Gertie’s going to include you for dinner tonight.’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to speak to Gertie if you don’t want any and she’ll probably make you some all the same, so I wouldn’t waste your breath.’

  ‘Why can’t you Hamilton girls just leave me alone?’

  ‘Because that wouldn’t be right,’ Evie said matter-of-factly, ‘and I have a suspicion that you don’t want to be left alone. Not really.’

  ‘Oh, you think you know me, do you? What are you? Seventeen? Think you know your way around a person’s psyche? Bah!’