‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ll give it back to you as soon as I can.’
Esther waved a hand at her. ‘There’s no rush. My eyes won’t allow me to read much these days. I find the print so maddeningly small and I don’t get to the libraries much for those large print books.’
‘Oh,’ Evie said in alarm, not being able to imagine a world without reading. Like Gertie, she adored stories. Then something occurred to her. ‘Have you tried a Kindle?’
‘Pardon?’
‘A Kindle,’ Evie said. ‘It’s an electronic reading device and you can make the text as big as you want.’
‘Never heard of it,’ Esther said dismissively.
‘That doesn’t mean it’s not a great thing,’ Evie told her. ‘I’ll lend you mine,’ she said, making a mental note to delete some of the racier titles she had already read.
When she left the room, closing the door quietly behind her, the copy of Three Men in a Boat in her hand, Evie couldn’t help but smile. Had she really just had a normal non-confrontational conversation with Esther Martin? Celeste and Gertie would never believe her.
Celeste was surprisingly happy to have a reason to contact Julian Faraday again so soon. The painting discovered in her father and Simone’s bedroom was nagging away at her so she decided to send the photographs she’d taken to Julian.
‘What do you think?’ she texted him, giving him the rough dimensions of the painting. She wasn’t surprised when he rang her back just three minutes later.
‘You found the missing painting!’ he said in delight.
‘Well, yes,’ she said, not elaborating at this point. ‘Have you any idea who it’s by?’
‘I do,’ he said. ‘It’s by a little-known English artist called Paul Calman. He painted between the wars – mostly still life but the occasional East Anglian landscape.’
Celeste cleared her throat. ‘And is it worth much?’
‘It’s not worth as much as the others,’ Julian told her, ‘but it’s still a very nice painting. I’d have to see it, of course, to determine its value, but I’d estimate about five thousand.’
‘Right,’ Celeste said, acknowledging the fact that it wasn’t going to swell the Little Eleigh Manor coffers greatly but also knowing that she’d want it back in their home even if it was only worth a fiver. It had been chosen by her grandfather for their grandmother and it belonged at the manor.
‘Where is it?’ Julian asked.
‘Ah,’ Celeste said, biting her lip. ‘We don’t actually have it in our possession at the moment.’
‘Sounds intriguing,’ Julian said. ‘Well, perhaps I’ll get to see it at some point and then I can give you a proper valuation.’
‘Right,’ Celeste said, secretly thinking that that was never going to happen.
‘I’m popping through to Suffolk this weekend,’ he said. ‘I thought I might check out a few places to possibly rent. You know my crazy idea to open an antiques shop?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said.
‘I was wondering if you’d like to join me. If you’re not too busy, that is.’
It was then that a horn sounded from outside and Celeste peered out of the window to see the scruffy white works van of Ludkin and Son.
‘Julian, I’ve got to run. Somebody’s just arrived. Goodbye,’ she said, hanging up quickly before rushing to the front door.
‘Mr Ludkin,’ she said, extending a hand in welcome. ‘Do come in.’ His hand was rough with a whitish hue as if it had been dipped in plaster.
‘It’s been a long time,’ he said, scratching his greying hair, which also looked full of plaster. ‘You remember me boy?’
Celeste nodded. ‘Tim, right?’
Tim shuffled a step forward and nodded shyly. He was a little taller than his father, or would have been if his head and shoulders weren’t quite so slumped.
‘Well, come on through,’ Celeste said. ‘I’m sure you know where we’re heading.’ She led the way to the infamous north wing, the sound of Tim Ludkin sniffing nervously behind her.
‘Still holding up, then?’ Mr Ludkin asked. ‘Not tumbled into the moat yet?’
‘I think some of it might have done,’ she said.
‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ he said, shaking his head from side to side. ‘I do love these old houses but sometimes they’re more trouble than they’re worth.’
‘I know exactly what you mean but we’ve got to try and save it,’ Celeste said.
‘And we can actually go ahead with the work this time?’ he asked. ‘You’re not just getting another quote to add to that the big pile I’ve already given you?’
‘We’re going ahead with the work this time,’ Celeste vowed. ‘I fear the whole of the north wing needs attention but there’s one room that needs to be dealt with first.’ She paused outside the Room of Doom and took a deep breath before opening the door. The two men walked inside.
‘Right,’ Mr Ludkin said ambiguously and Celeste watched in alarm as his son’s mouth slackened and his eyes glazed over.
Suddenly, Celeste didn’t want to be there at all. ‘If you could take a look around here and the other rooms in this wing, that would be great,’ she said. ‘Of course, there are other jobs to tackle around the house but I think we should prioritise this wing for now. Can I make you both a cup of tea whilst I let you get on with it?’
‘Thank you,’ Mr Ludkin said. ‘Never said no to a cup of tea.’
Celeste left them to it and retreated to the kitchen, where she found she was shaking.
‘You can get through this,’ she told herself as she grabbed a couple of robust mugs from the cupboard. ‘You’re doing the right thing.’
Still, she couldn’t help hearing the voice of her mother deep in the recesses of her mind.
‘That money can be better spent. You should be putting it into the business – not wasting it on a building.’
Penelope Hamilton had never really been in love with the manor. She’d only tolerated it as a base for the business, happy to be the beautiful host in a beautiful setting and using the romance of the building and its grounds to charm prospective clients, but she had never cared for it in the same way that her own parents had. It had never quite woven its magic spell upon her, and it had suffered the consequences. Consequences that now had to be dealt with.
Celeste made the tea, placing the mugs on a tray together with a little bowl of sugar and a jug of milk. She wished that she didn’t have to return to the north wing at all; she wished that she could just hide herself away until the whole horrible business was finished. She hadn’t even thought about what she was going to do with the north wing once it was renovated. It was an enormous space and it would just start to slowly decay once again if it wasn’t used. She thought about all the possibilities. Perhaps they could let it out? Perhaps there would be another Esther Martin who would want to come and live at the manor or perhaps they could open the rooms for bed and breakfast, although that didn’t really appeal to Celeste and might just get in the way once the property was put on the market.
Anyway, she thought, she didn’t have to make up her mind there and then. There was an awful lot of work to be done before she started thinking about finishing the rooms and expecting people to want to stay in them.
Returning to the north wing with the tea things, she opened the door into the Room of Doom, where Mr Ludkin and his son were still examining the damage. She put the tray on one of the less rotten windowsills and stood silently watching them as they strode around, touching walls and gazing up at the ceiling and down at the floorboards. She dreaded, absolutely dreaded, what might be going through their minds.
‘Mr Ludkin?’ she prodded, unable to bear the suspense any longer.
He circled the pile of rubble that lay in the middle of the floor, tapping it with the foot of his steel-tipped work boot.
‘Well,�
� he said a moment later, scratching his head again, ‘I’ve seen worse.’
‘I haven’t,’ Tim said.
‘What I mean to say is, I’ve seen worse but not with somebody actually living in the house at the time.’
‘Well, we’re not living in this actual room,’ Celeste pointed out.
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he said with a chuckle.
‘And you’ve taken a look at the other rooms and the damp in the corridor?’
‘Seen it all before,’ he said. ‘I remember this place well. Been worrying myself about it for years but I’ll give it a proper going-over before we leave and see how much more damage has been done since I was last here.’
Celeste winced. ‘I’m just glad we can get to work on it now,’ she said. ‘If you’re willing to take the job on, of course. We’d have to see your quote first.’
Mr Ludkin nodded, slurping his tea as he continued to move around the room, shaking his head here and sucking his teeth there.
He was at the manor for another hour, taking photographs and making notes and muttering all sorts of horrors to his son. Celeste tried not to listen. She really didn’t want to know. Finally, they were ready to leave.
‘I’ll get that quote to you next week,’ Mr Ludkin said. ‘Brace yourself, now.’
‘I will,’ Celeste said, watching as the two men got into the van and drove away.
Gertie was walking across the lawn, a basket of eggs in her hand.
‘Was that Ludkin and Son?’ she asked.
Celeste nodded. ‘Yes. I’ve just shown him the north wing.’
‘What did he say?’ Gertie asked.
‘He shook his head a lot, sucked his teeth and told me to brace myself for his quote.’
‘Well, as long as we’ve got enough in the pot from the sale of the paintings,’ Gertie said.
Celeste sighed. ‘Let’s just hope we will have!’
18.
Celeste wasn’t sure what exactly had woken her but she was only glad that it wasn’t the sound of a ceiling collapsing somewhere within the depths of the house. She lay still, staring into the darkness of her room before switching her bedside lamp on. Warm light flooded the room and revealed Frinton at the bottom of the bed, softly snoring, his little furry body giving him the appearance of a soft toy. Moving carefully so as not to disturb him, Celeste got up and checked her clock. It was just after two.
She made her way downstairs with the intention of making a cup of herbal tea. It wasn’t until she was in the hallway that she was quite sure she wasn’t the only one up in the middle of the night. There was somebody in the kitchen.
Celeste sighed, immediately knowing who it was and realising that it meant trouble. Sure enough, the light was on and the sound of somebody moving about could be heard.
One of Gertie’s great pleasures in life was baking but, when it happened in the middle of the night, it was a sure indication that she was stressed. The sight of her sister in her dressing gown, banging ceramic bowls around in the kitchen, instantly told Celeste that something was wrong.
‘Gertie?’ she said, hovering in the doorway as if testing to see if it was safe to enter the room. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Making scones,’ her sister replied without turning around. Celeste saw that there were already two batches of fruit scones fresh from the Aga and, judging by the delicious smell, a third was well on its way.
‘Can I come in?’
Gertie nodded and Celeste made her way towards the kettle.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘No thank you,’ Gertie said. ‘Would you like a scone?’
Celeste smiled. ‘I have never been able to refuse one of your scones no matter what time of the day or night it is.’
Gertie took a plate out of the cupboard and Celeste watched as she cut open a warm scone and buttered it, bringing it to the table a moment later.
‘Aren’t you having one?’ Celeste asked.
Gertie shook her head. ‘I couldn’t.’
‘Want to talk?’
‘No. I want to bake.’ She walked back towards the Aga and lifted out the last batch of scones. There were few more pleasurable experiences than sitting in a kitchen filled with the cosy warmth of an Aga – especially an Aga that had just cooked over thirty fruit scones – but although it was a great treat to be eating one of Gertie’s scones, Celeste knew in her heart that there was a problem to be addressed.
‘Gertie,’ she said, her voice low but firm. ‘Sit down.’
Her sister stopped what she was doing and turned around. Celeste saw that her face was quite red and she didn’t expect that it was just from the heat of the Aga.
‘Come and talk to me,’ she said a moment later when Gertie hadn’t moved. Finally, her sister joined her at the table.
‘Is the scone all right?’
‘The scone is perfect,’ Celeste said, ‘but I don’t want to talk about scones.’
Gertie looked down at her hands under the table, where Celeste knew that she was picking at her nails.
‘It’s a man, isn’t it?’ Celeste said and Gertie nodded. ‘Is it a man I know?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘I don’t know. You tell me.’
‘I’d rather not.’
‘What’s going on? What’s making you so unhappy?’
Gertie swallowed hard and her dark eyes misted with tears. ‘I’m in love with him.’
‘That shouldn’t make you miserable,’ Celeste said.
‘I know.’
‘Then what’s happened?’
‘He doesn’t call me when he says he will and I hardly get to see him,’ she said, her voice subdued.
‘Was it him you were with in Cambridge?’
‘How did you know?’
‘A wild guess?’ Celeste said, a wry eyebrow raised.
‘It’s the longest we’ve ever spent together,’ she said, ‘and it was wonderful.’
‘So, why can’t it be like at all the time? Is he a workaholic?’
Gertie gave a little snort but didn’t answer the question.
‘Gertie? What’s stopping him from seeing you?’
The silence that filled the room was palpable and neither sister spoke.
‘Gertie?’ Celeste pressed, anxiety weighing her down. ‘Tell me.’
Gertie looked across the table at her and Celeste feared that she knew what she was about to say, only she didn’t get a chance.
‘What on earth is going on?’ Esther barked from the door, making both the sisters jump. ‘I can’t get to sleep for the racket you girls are making.’
Gertie leapt up from the table and Celeste knew that the moment was lost.
‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Martin,’ she said. ‘We didn’t mean to disturb you.’
‘What you are both doing up at this time when good people are trying to sleep?’
‘Nothing,’ Celeste said. ‘We’re both going back to bed. Come on. I’ll walk you back to your room.’ She turned to try and catch Gertie’s eye but her sister’s back was to her. Their conversation would have to take place at another time.
Gertie did a pretty good job of avoiding Celeste over the next few days, which wasn’t hard in a house the size of Little Eleigh Manor with its accompanying acres of garden. It had always been the perfect place to lose yourself if you needed to, as Celeste had discovered growing up. Sometimes, when life and family became too much, she would find a little corner in a panelled room or a leafy arbour in the rose garden and tuck herself away until she felt strong enough to come out again. Perhaps that’s what Gertie had been doing, Celeste thought, imagining her sister taking her work to some quiet corner of the estate where she wouldn’t be subject to her big sister’s questions.
Celeste couldn’t help but worry about her. Had she been about
to open up to her the other night in the kitchen before Esther Martin had barged in? Celeste had the feeling that she might well have been and it pained her that Gertie was carrying around this great hurt on her own. But she couldn’t force her to tell her what was going on, could she? Gertie knew where to find her if she wanted to talk. As much as she wanted to, Celeste couldn’t deny the fact that she hadn’t been there for her sisters over the last few years. Evie was probably never going to forgive her for that, Celeste thought, and she was probably in the right. Celeste would never really understand what Gertie and Evie had gone through in the last months of their mother’s life. She could only just begin to imagine what it must have been like.
‘But I couldn’t have been there,’ she told herself. She’d been telling herself that over and over again since Penelope had died, but there was that tiny element of doubt sitting in her heart. Could she have made it good with her mother at the end? She sincerely doubted it but perhaps she should have at least tried.
Tears of frustration filled her eyes and she blinked them away, cursing the impossible situation she found herself in: she should have been there but she couldn’t possibly have been there.
Would she ever be free of the overwhelming sense of guilt that she’d let her sisters down? They’d needed her – not just in her capacity as a good administrator to keep the office in check but as a fellow sister to talk to and to take comfort from when things got rough. Even if she hadn’t been able to make things right with Penelope, she should have been there all the same – for Gertie and Evie.
‘I failed them,’ she said to herself. ‘But I can put that right now. I’m here for them now.’
It was a long overdue bill and a spot of grocery shopping that took Celeste into Lavenham on Saturday morning. She’d found the outstanding invoice from the printing company they used for all their cards and stationery and thought that an apology in person was as overdue as the actual money. So she’d driven in, parked on the hill by the church and walked into town, passing the rows of timber-framed buildings that leaned forwards and sideways at the most alarming angles and attracted hordes of tourists in the summer months.
The Rose Girls Page 16
