The Rose Girls

by Victoria Connelly

‘Are you all right?’ Gertie said when things had calmed down. ‘I don’t think you should really be getting yourself so excited when you’re pregnant.’

  ‘God, yes!’ Celeste said. ‘And when I think what might have happened if you’d fallen from that ladder!’

  ‘I had to do it,’ Evie said.

  ‘I know you did,’ Celeste said, ‘but don’t ever do anything like that again, okay? At least not when you’ve got a baby on the way.’

  ‘Don’t you two start treating me like an invalid, because I’m not,’ she said, pushing her blonde hair out of her face and scowling. ‘I feel fine and I absolutely insist on being me throughout this pregnancy.’

  Celeste gave a resigned sort of look, knowing that no power on earth would get Evie to calm her ways unless she herself decided to take things easy. And that wasn’t likely to happen any time soon.

  She was just thinking about how wonderfully happy she felt that morning and how there seemed to be a certain ease between the three of them now when the phone rang again.

  ‘Don’t pick it up!’ Celeste yelled. ‘It’ll be her again.

  ‘Then I’ll give her what for again,’ Evie said, picking up the receiver. ‘Hello?’ she said abruptly. ‘Oh, Julian! Sorry! I thought you were someone else.’ She laughed. ‘No – everyone’s fine. Yes, we’re at home. Come on over.’

  It was twenty minutes later when Julian arrived. Evie was there to greet him and hollered through the house for Celeste because she’d disappeared into the study again.

  ‘Hello, Celeste,’ he said, his face warmed by his smile as she entered the hallway. ‘I’ve brought you the catalogue.’

  ‘Oh, wonderful,’ Celeste said, pleased to see him again. She led the way to the living room. ‘Cup of tea?’

  ‘I’ll do the honours,’ Evie said.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said as he sat down next to Celeste on one of the old sofas next to the fireplace. He put his neat briefcase on the coffee table and opened it up, reaching inside for the glossy Faraday’s catalogue. ‘Here we go,’ he said, handing it to Celeste. ‘Yours are from page four and on the cover too.’

  ‘How lovely!’ she said, gasping in delight as she saw the painting featured on the cover. It was the Ferdinand Georg Waldmüller painting of the silver vase tumbling over with deep pink roses that seemed to glow out of their dark background. It was luminous and so lovely that Celeste felt a lump in her throat at the thought that she would never see the painting again. Not at Little Eleigh Manor, at least.

  ‘We’ve had a lot of interest in that one,’ Julian told her. ‘The painting we choose for the cover always gets a lot of attention.’

  ‘Thank you for choosing one of ours,’ Celeste said, and he smiled at her and nodded.

  ‘I wouldn’t have chosen any other,’ he said.

  Her fingers were trembling as she opened the catalogue. Page one showed an introduction underneath a photograph of Julian. It made him look intensely handsome and Celeste almost did a double take. Was he really that attractive? She turned to look at him.

  ‘Oh, that photograph!’ he said. ‘I look like a schoolboy!’

  ‘No you don’t!’ Celeste said without thinking. ‘Well, maybe that stripy tie is a bit schoolboyish.’

  ‘I should get a new one done but I hate that sort of fuss,’ he said, waving a hand in the air as if to bat all the attention away.

  ‘It’s nice. You should leave it.’

  He looked surprised by the compliment and Celeste felt her face heating up. She turned her attention back to the catalogue. Pages two and three featured dark, bleak nineteenth-century landscapes, which made the rose paintings that followed absolutely sing, Celeste thought. She read the descriptions and saw the estimated prices, and her heart felt so heavy that she thought she was going to burst into tears again.

  ‘It must be a bit odd seeing the paintings like that,’ Julian said after she hadn’t spoken for some time.

  ‘I feel like the spirit of Grandpa Arthur is looking over my shoulder,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sure he’d tell you that you’re doing the right thing,’ Julian said.

  ‘Would he?’

  ‘He’d understand.’

  ‘Here we are!’ Evie chimed, entering the room with three cups of tea on a tray which she placed on the coffee table. She sat on the sofa next to Celeste, forcing her to move so close to Julian that their legs collided. ‘Heavens! Are those our paintings?’

  Celeste nodded as Evie took the catalogue from her. ‘I’m afraid they are.’

  Evie took a moment to look at them and then gave a little sniff. ‘I wish we could keep them,’ she said.

  ‘So do I,’ Celeste said. ‘But it was either that or lose the north wing. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘I know,’ Evie said, ‘but it still hurts.’

  ‘I can let you have copies of the photographs we took of the paintings,’ Julian said. ‘They’re very good.’

  ‘It won’t be the same, though, will it?’ Evie said.

  ‘Of course not,’ Julian said.

  They drank their tea in affable silence, and then Celeste stood up.

  ‘Thanks for bringing the catalogue round,’ she said. ‘I’ll walk you out. Frinton needs a run.’

  Frinton, who’d been sitting on a rug by the fireplace, stood up, his stumpy tail wagging, and the three of them left the manor together, walking across the freshly mown lawn that sloped down to the river. Frinton ran ahead of them, eager to find something to sniff or roll in.

  ‘This is such a special place,’ Julian said.

  ‘We like it,’ Celeste said, ‘and that’s why we have to make sacrifices to keep it all going. Like selling the paintings.’

  ‘I wish there was something I could do to help,’ he said.

  ‘But you are,’ Celeste told him. ‘I can’t thank you enough for putting one of our paintings on the cover and for getting in touch with Kammie.’

  He smiled. ‘I feel like this place has become a part of me now. Does that sound too presumptuous?’

  Celeste shook her head. ‘This place has a habit of reeling people in.’

  ‘I can understand why,’ he said. ‘I think if I lived here, I’d never want to leave.’

  ‘Well, it’s easy to say that,’ Celeste said.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Sorry – that was insensitive of me.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘It hurt like hell to leave this place when I did, but it would have hurt even more if I’d stayed.’

  ‘Are you glad to be back?’

  Celeste looked out to the fields beyond the river and a light breeze blew through her dark hair. ‘I love this place but there are so many strange emotions tangled up here that I sometimes hate it too. Does that make sense?’

  Julian nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘it does. But time will change that for you, won’t it? When it becomes more your home – when you’ve put your stamp on it.’

  ‘Ah, time!’ Celeste said with a little laugh. ‘I’m not sure there’s enough time in the world to erase the past for me and I’m really not sure if I can stay here, although’ – she paused – ‘I’m beginning to feel a bit more settled here now, which is something I thought would never happen. Gertie and Evie want me to stay. I know that now. But I’m not sure what to do.’

  Julian gave her a look that was so full of tenderness that Celeste had to turn away.

  ‘You’ve got to let the past go, Celeste, and start making yourself a future, whether it’s here or somewhere else.’

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘It’s one of the reasons I feel it might be a good idea to sell this place.’

  ‘Are you sure that’s the only option?’ he asked. ‘It seems like a pretty final one to me.’

  ‘I know,’ she said, ‘but we really need a lot more money coming than we have at present. The money raised
by the paintings will be brilliant, of course, but it’s all going to get eaten up by those long-overdue jobs, and Evie’s doing amazing work with the business. She’s even mentioned hosting weddings here, which could work if we all got behind it. But what we really need is a regular income from something in addition to the rose business.’

  ‘Like rent or something?’

  Celeste nodded. ‘Evie would probably never speak to me again if we sold, but I think Gertie might be all right with the decision. She’s always talking about going abroad anyway. I think selling the manor might be the catalyst she needs to actually do that.’

  ‘But what about you? Where will you go?’

  She shrugged. ‘I’ll get by,’ she said. ‘I usually do.’

  Julian seemed to be watching her very intensely. ‘You know you can talk to me about anything,’ he said, ‘and I think you should talk about this stuff. It might actually be easier with me than with your sisters.’

  ‘Why do you think that?’ she asked.

  ‘Because it’s often harder to talk to families because of all the emotions involved,’ he said.

  ‘You know, we talked about some stuff last night,’ she confessed. ‘My sisters and I.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘I don’t know why we haven’t talked before,’ she said. ‘We’ve all been carrying around this great pain but unable to reach out to one another.’

  ‘You see?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Talk to me,’ he said.

  They looked at each other but the words just wouldn’t come, and all that Celeste could say was, ‘I can’t.’

  Julian swallowed hard. ‘I wish you would,’ he said. ‘I’d really love to help you.’

  ‘But you have already,’ she said, genuinely baffled.

  ‘But I want to help more,’ he said. ‘I care about you, Celeste. You must know that by now.’

  She started walking again, moving away from the river and down into the rose garden.

  ‘Celeste?’ he called after her, running to catch up.

  She stopped and turned back to look at him. ‘What?’

  He sighed and ran a hand through his dark red hair. ‘I’m sorry if I am prodding too deeply. You obviously feel uncomfortable about all this.’

  ‘No – I –’ She paused.

  ‘What? What is it?’

  ‘I’m not sure I know how to talk.’

  He cocked his head to one side at this strange confession. ‘What do you mean?’

  She looked down at the neat grass beneath her ever-so-practical lace-up shoes and shook her head. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘Perhaps I’m not ready to talk.’

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Well, I’m here whenever you are. You know that, right?’

  ‘I know you are,’ she said, and she suddenly wanted to reach out to him, to let him know how much he meant to her, but something was holding her back and her hand remained resolutely by her side.

  They both began walking again, reaching a path that led under several rose-smothered arches.

  ‘I went to see another shop in Lavenham,’ he said at last, stopping to smell a cluster of pale apricot roses.

  ‘For your antiques business?’ Celeste said, glad to turn the conversation back onto slightly safer ground at last.

  He nodded. ‘But it’s fallen through, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh, no!’

  ‘Yep!’ he said.

  ‘So, what will you do?’

  ‘Start again.’

  ‘In Lavenham?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ he said and his eyes crinkled at the edges as he looked at her. ‘Actually, you’ve given me a pretty good idea just now.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. They stopped walking. ‘Celeste, I wanted to ask your opinion about something but I’ve been putting it off because I knew you were still thinking about selling the manor.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Well, if you weren’t going to sell, what would you think about opening an antiques centre here?’

  ‘Here?’

  ‘Why not?’ he said. ‘The manor would be the perfect venue, don’t you think?’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘I’m never anything but serious,’ he said with a playful grin. ‘Just think about it – it could bring in so many people. It could be Suffolk’s new day out – browse a few antiques and buy yourself some roses!’

  He turned to look at the huge expanse of the manor across the moat. It really was the most stunning scene – straight out of a fairytale book with its timber frame wing, its castellations and its soaring towers.

  ‘But I’m still thinking of selling the manor,’ Celeste told him. ‘You know that.’

  ‘I know,’ he said, ‘and I can’t stop thinking about that.’

  ‘Really?’

  He nodded. ‘What were your plans for the north wing?’ he asked. ‘Just out of interest.’

  ‘Well, I – I hadn’t really thought about it,’ Celeste said. ‘At least, not beyond keeping it from falling down again.’

  ‘You know you can’t leave those rooms empty – not after all the money you’re spending on them.’

  ‘I guess not,’ she said. ‘I’ve been worrying about that myself, actually.’

  ‘Well, if you had somebody renting those rooms – keeping them heated, keeping them alive – I think they’d really benefit, don’t you? Just imagine them filled with wonderful old pieces – things that might once have graced such rooms.’

  ‘You mean you’d want to use the whole wing?’

  ‘Celeste, I could fill Wembley Stadium if I was given that much room,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘In fact, I’d have great pleasure filling it and imagining what it would look like!’

  ‘I’m trying,’ she said.

  ‘And I could offer you a good rent, of course, and commission on the pieces sold.’

  ‘Well – I –’ She stopped and a little laugh escaped her. ‘You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ he said. ‘The north wing has its own entrance, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, there’s a door at the far end of the courtyard.’

  ‘So you wouldn’t be disturbed by customers,’ he said.

  ‘But you’d be in London, wouldn’t you?’

  He stroked his chin. ‘I’d love to be based here but, to begin with, I think it’s best if I hire somebody and come and go between the auction rooms in London until things are more sorted there.’

  ‘Okay,’ Celeste said, suddenly feeling rather excited about Julian’s idea and wondering whether it could really work. If it could, it might mean a whole new future for Little Eleigh Manor. It really could be a viable option, she thought, turning the manor into a real place of business whilst allowing the sisters to live there together.

  ‘With Evie’s baby,’ she whispered.

  ‘Pardon?’ Julian said.

  She looked up at him. ‘Do you want to take a look at the rooms now?’ she asked.

  ‘I’d absolutely love to,’ he said.

  ‘Mr Ludkin’s at work so it’s a bit noisy and dusty,’ Celeste explained.

  ‘I don’t mind if he doesn’t.’

  They left the scented glory of the rose garden and walked through the courtyard, entering the north wing by the ancient wooden door.

  ‘This is amazing,’ Julian said. ‘Imagine what customers would think. They’d already have their hands halfway to their wallets.’

  Celeste grinned at the idea. ‘You think so?’

  ‘Once customers see this place, I think they’ll want to take a little piece of it away with them, and that’s when I’ll be ready with the antiques.’

  Celeste adored his confidence, and she led him down the long dark corridor which was filled with the sou
nd of ferocious banging.

  ‘Mr Ludkin?’ she called. Turning to Julian, she added, ‘I find it’s best not to surprise him just in case he’s about to knock a wall down.’

  ‘Good point,’ Julian said.

  ‘Is it okay to come in?’ Celeste asked, knocking on one of the doors.

  ‘Aye – come on in!’ Mr Ludkin called back.

  ‘This is Julian Faraday,’ she said. ‘He’s interested in renting these rooms out.’

  ‘Is he?’ Mr Ludkin said, his eyes narrowing. ‘Not at the moment, though?’

  ‘I think it would be wise to wait until you’re finished work in here,’ Julian said, reaching out to shake Mr Ludkin’s dusty hand.

  ‘Going okay, is it?’ Celeste asked.

  ‘No surprises today,’ Mr Ludkin said.

  ‘Good,’ Celeste said.

  ‘But you can never tell with these old houses,’ he said. ‘Just saying that to my boy, wasn’t I?’

  Mr Ludkin’s son looked up from where he’d been scraping at some plaster and nodded.

  ‘So, what do you think?’ Celeste asked Julian as they crossed the room to the magnificent Elizabethan window which looked out over the moat.

  ‘I think it’s incredible,’ he said. ‘You could fit all sorts in here and it wouldn’t look lost. Tapestries, four-poster beds –’

  ‘Four-poster beds?’

  ‘Just imagine!’

  ‘I’m trying!’ Celeste said.

  ‘Listen,’ Julian said, ‘this is a pretty big thing to spring on you and I’m not expecting an answer right away but at least give it some thought, won’t you? Just think about what it might be like to give this place a chance at a new life.’

  Celeste nodded. ‘I will,’ she said.

  ‘And maybe we could talk about it some more at dinner after the auction,’ he said.

  Celeste looked surprised. ‘Oh, I’m not sure I’m coming,’ she said.

  ‘But you’ve got to come!’ he said. ‘You can’t miss it. Come on in to London and I’ll take you to my favourite restaurant afterwards to celebrate.’

  Celeste took a deep breath, which still wasn’t advisable in the north wing. ‘I really don’t know if I could bear to see our paintings going under the hammer,’ she said, her eyes wide with hopelessness.