The Secrets of Winter

by Nicola Upson

  ‘Oh, I hadn’t thought. What time does the family usually go down?’

  ‘We always serve breakfast after the morning service on Christmas Day. That starts at nine o’clock, but I can arrange for you to have something beforehand in your room if you’d prefer?’

  Josephine hesitated, tempted by the idea of a quiet start to the day, but her sense of obligation won out. ‘No, please don’t go to any trouble. After the service will be fine, and perhaps you could call me at eight?’

  ‘Of course, madam.’

  She left the room, almost bumping into Archie on her way out, and Josephine stood to give him a hug. ‘Happy Christmas! Thank God you’re here. Now you can explain how all this works.’

  He smiled. ‘I’m no expert, but what would you like to know?’

  ‘What do we do about tips, and why does the weather make the housekeeper cry?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She was upset – something to do with her daughter, I think. It was all a bit awkward and I didn’t like to ask.’

  ‘Well, I can’t help you with that one, but as far as tips are concerned, it’s best to opt for a discreet thank you on your last morning.’ He stood back to admire her dress. ‘You look lovely.’

  ‘So do you, even more so than usual.’ It was true, she thought: Archie could carry black tie off better than anyone else she knew, but tonight he seemed particularly relaxed, and she remembered thinking the very same thing when they had last been in Cornwall together. ‘Is there anything you’d like to tell me after two days alone with Marlene?’ she asked coyly.

  ‘No, not in the way you mean.’

  ‘How very disappointing. I should warn you that Marta has a list of questions as long as her arm, though, and most of them are far more salacious than mine.’

  ‘Marlene has a few for her, too. She was fascinated when I told her that Marta wrote scripts for Hitchcock. She’s a great admirer of his.’

  ‘You probably shouldn’t mention that. Marta’s jumpy enough about her as it is.’

  ‘When does Marta leave for America?’

  ‘Just after New Year. She’ll be there for a couple of months, sorting things out for the Hitchcocks before they make the big move.’

  ‘And how do you feel about that?’

  Josephine shrugged, but she knew that any show of nonchalance wouldn’t fool Archie and she was glad to talk to him about it. Marta’s work for the Hitchcocks was important to her, and although she had refused the offer of a permanent move to Hollywood with them, they valued her enough to let her come and go. Still, Josephine could never entirely rid herself of the fear that one day Marta might not come back. ‘I’ll miss her. I daren’t admit this to her, but I wonder if there’ll come a time when she has to make a choice, especially with war on the horizon.’

  ‘But surely you know she’d choose you. She always has.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Keep reminding me of that, would you?’

  He smiled. ‘Of course I will.’

  ‘Anyway, she’ll be here in a minute. You’ve saved us the trouble of coming to find you. Sherry?’

  ‘Lovely.’ She poured three glasses and passed his across. ‘Did you have a good journey down?’ Archie asked.

  ‘Yes and no. The train was fine – spectacular, actually, with all the snow – but the first guests we met were a nightmare.’ She told him about the Lancasters and their bickering. ‘What’s even worse is that he’s a fan of my books. I just know I’ll be stuck with him all weekend unless I’m very rude. You too, probably, once he finds out you’re from Scotland Yard.’

  Archie grimaced. ‘I can trump that.’ Josephine listened in disbelief as he told her about Barbara Penhaligon’s Nazi chaperone. ‘Marlene was livid. Everything she’s come here to avoid seems to have followed her. I felt so sorry for Hilaria.’

  ‘It makes you wonder why we all look forward to Christmas, doesn’t it? Still, I suppose if we drink enough …’

  He raised his glass. ‘And it’s only a couple of days. What can possibly go wrong?’

  6

  Rachel Lancaster waited until their hostess had left the room, then turned on her husband. ‘For God’s sake, Gerry! That was so humiliating. I don’t know how you could have put us in that position. Now we’ve got to be here all weekend, sitting at their table, drinking their wine, and knowing we owe them money that we really can’t afford.’

  ‘It was a simple mistake, darling. Miss St Aubyn accepts that. Why can’t you?’

  ‘Because I know you better than she does.’

  She saw his face tighten with the effort to stay calm. ‘It’s Christmas, Rachel, and I doubt very much that I’m the only person to have bounced a cheque. We’ve had a lot of expenses, and I forgot that my bonus wasn’t going to be paid until the end of the month.’

  ‘But you don’t even know how much your bonus will be.’

  He slammed his hand down on the bedside table and she flinched. ‘Will you please stop making such a bloody fuss! I’ll write the woman another cheque as soon as we get home, and that will be that. I don’t want to hear another word about it.’

  He picked up his book and began to read, but the embarrassment of the last few minutes was still raw in Rachel’s memory and she refused to let it drop. ‘You promised me this would never happen again,’ she said evenly. ‘Not after the last time. Why are we here, Gerry? Because it sure as hell isn’t to celebrate a happy anniversary.’

  There was no answer, and she recognised the hostile, brooding silence that invariably warned of trouble. This time, though, something in her wanted to test him: perhaps it was a weary fatalism with life or the familiar desolation of Christmas, perhaps simply the comfort of strangers, in whose presence surely even Gerry would have to control himself, but she longed suddenly for change, and it scarcely mattered whether it was for better or worse. ‘I’m going to dress for dinner.’ She got up, and felt his eyes on her as she walked over to the wardrobe.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he asked. ‘I’ve chosen your clothes for tonight. They’re on the chair.’

  Rachel looked at the selection he had made on her behalf, a yellow crêpe-de-chine evening dress that he had bought for her several seasons ago. The frills of white silk and a black velvet ribbon bow at the front were ugly and outdated, and she hated the way that the colour always made her look washed out and ill; she had lost weight in the intervening years, and the dress now sat shapelessly on her, ageing her before her time. ‘That’s kind of you, darling,’ she said, unable to resist a sarcastic emphasis on the endearment, ‘but I fancy a change tonight. I’ve brought something special.’

  She found the black silk-crêpe dinner dress that the housemaid had hung so carefully in the wardrobe when she unpacked their cases and took it out with a flourish, enjoying the look of astonishment on her husband’s face as she held it up and studied herself in the full-length mirror. He was off the bed and across the room in a single movement. She felt his hands on her shoulders, saw his fury reflected in the looking glass, but for once she stood her ground, refusing to let go of the dress. ‘Where the hell did that come from?’ he demanded.

  ‘I bought it.’

  ‘You’ve been out shopping?’

  ‘Of course not, darling. I know how angry it makes you if I go out on my own, so I ordered it from a catalogue. What do you think? It wasn’t too expensive.’

  She met his eye, waiting for the explosion. ‘Rachel, you can’t possibly wear that thing,’ he said, looking at the fitted bodice. ‘It’s strapless, and …’

  ‘You’re worried I’ll be cold?’

  ‘I’m worried you’ll look like a whore.’

  A whore with bruises, she thought, watching him panic as he imagined the other guests looking across the dinner table at his wife’s arms, already thinking up another careless accident that she might have met with. She twisted away from him and found some nail scissors in her bag to cut the label off the dress, waiting a moment before she put him out of his misery. ‘Oh, don’t be so
pathetic, Gerry. Do you really think I want the shame of that any more than you do? I’ve been humiliated enough already today.’ The elbow-length black gloves that came with the dress were still wrapped in tissue; she tore the paper off and threw it on the fire. ‘I’ll wear these. Is that modest enough for you?’

  ‘You’ll wear what I told you to wear.’ He snatched one of the gloves from her and ran the soft black silk through his fingers, then wound one end of it round the palm of his hand. ‘Come here.’

  She stood her ground, but there was no defying his temper now. He threw her back on the bed and pressed his knee hard into her stomach. ‘Not my face, Gerry – please. Think of what people will say.’

  There was a knock at the door, and Rachel held her breath, waiting to see what he would do. Eventually, when the knock was repeated, he released her and threw the glove onto the floor. Rachel straightened her clothes and composed herself, then let the housemaid into the room.

  7

  Josephine was more than used to theatre and the world of make-believe, but she had never felt as much like an extra on a film set as she did when she, Marta and Archie walked into the library for drinks at six o’clock. The room was intimate and welcoming, far more typical of a traditional country house setting than a castle, and considerably less austere than most of the grander libraries that she had visited: the books set into the cushioned alcoves looked as if they had actually been read, and the pale walls, simple panelling and subtle watercolours gave a soft, understated feel to the space which instinctively married comfort and elegance. If the fireplace was modest by comparison with those in the bedrooms, the size of the low-ceilinged room rewarded its efforts more generously, and the atmosphere was warm and convivial.

  But the focal point, for tonight at least, was the baby grand piano in the corner. Josephine had heard the music outside in the corridor, a beautifully played version of ‘It Came Upon the Midnight Clear’ which she had assumed to be coming from a gramophone record, but as soon as the vocalist joined in, she realised her mistake. Marlene sat on the arm of a chair by the piano, her face veiled in cigarette smoke, and the image was in perfect harmony with the sultry, mysterious quality of her voice – a scene so framed and cinematic that it felt wrong to be viewing it in colour. The actress was wearing a figure-hugging black evening dress which could only have come from a Hollywood wardrobe, and no one in the room seemed able to take their eyes off her. Apart from the footman passing round champagne, the only person to acknowledge their appearance in the doorway was Marlene herself, who singled Archie out with a smile. ‘You lucky devil,’ Marta whispered in his ear. ‘I hope you don’t expect us to take the train back.’

  It seemed they were the last to arrive. Josephine nodded to the Lancasters, who were seated at a rosewood gaming table by another door, then took the opportunity offered by the music to study the guests she hadn’t met yet: a dark-haired woman in her twenties, who fitted Archie’s description of Barbara Penhaligon; the photographer from The Times, who sat in one of the alcoves with his camera in his lap, apparently too captivated even to consider pointing it at Marlene; and an elderly man with a shock of white hair, standing with Hilaria by the piano and looking lovingly past the film star at the woman who was playing for her – they must be the Hartleys, Josephine thought. Hilaria broke away from the group as soon as she saw them, and Josephine was touched by the warmth of her welcome. ‘Miss Tey, how lovely to see you again, and you must be Miss Fox. Welcome to St Michael’s Mount, both of you, and thank you so much for changing your plans to be here. I hope Archie told you how grateful I am – and not just because you’ve bolstered the coffers so generously. You really didn’t have to do that. It’s enough that you’ve come.’

  ‘Well, Archie did mention that the circumstances were a little unusual,’ Josephine said, with a wry glance towards the piano, ‘but he certainly didn’t have to twist our arms.’

  ‘And the company wasn’t the only enticement,’ Marta added. ‘This is such a special place. Thank you for inviting us.’

  ‘It’s my pleasure. Archie and I haven’t seen anywhere near enough of each other these last few years. This is almost like the old days.’ She smiled fondly at him, and Josephine wondered if their respective families had ever hoped for something more than friendship between Archie and Hilaria. ‘Come and meet everyone.’

  There was a ripple of applause as Marlene finished singing. She gave a nod of recognition to her accompanist, then got up and headed in their direction. The colour drained from Marta’s face until Josephine feared that she might actually faint. The actress held out her hand; the Prussian blue eyes and high cheekbones were so legendary that it was hard to do anything but stare at them. ‘I am Marlene,’ she said, although it would have been hard to find three more redundant words. ‘You must be Archie’s friends? He has told me so much about you and your work. Which of you writes the plays, and which the films?’ Neither of them spoke, as if the question had been a difficult one, and it was left to Archie to introduce them. ‘And you all know Mr Hitchcock?’

  ‘I think it would be fairer to say that Archie and I have crossed paths with him,’ Josephine said, still smarting from the liberties that the director had taken when adapting her book, ‘but Marta knows him very well. She’s worked on several films with him.’

  ‘Were you involved in The 39 Steps? I love that film.’

  ‘No, that was before my time. I started while he was making Sabotage, but my first writing job was on Young and Innocent, the film he made from Josephine’s book.’

  ‘And your friendship survived that? I have heard he is not kind to his source material.’

  Josephine smiled. ‘We’ve got through worse.’

  Marlene looked intrigued but didn’t pry. ‘Everyone talks about the final shot of that film, but the one I really admired was the train under the bridge and the light on the houses – it has such a lovely mood. He is a master of camera work and lighting.’

  ‘He says the same about you. I’m surprised you’ve never met – you have a lot in common.’

  ‘Tell me – what is he like to work with?’

  Marta seemed much more at ease, and Josephine was only too pleased to excuse herself from Hitchcock’s fan club as Hilaria continued the introductions. ‘Now, Archie – you and Richard must know each other already? Richard was our chaplain here very briefly, just before the war. Surely you met?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ Archie said. ‘I was up at Cambridge then, and I didn’t get home very much, although your face looks familiar. Lovely to meet you.’

  ‘And this is Angela, Richard’s wife.’

  ‘The music was beautiful, Mrs Hartley,’ Josephine said. ‘I imagine it must have been quite nerve-racking, playing for someone so famous, but no one would ever have known.’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m not as sharp as I was,’ the vicar’s wife admitted, although she seemed pleased by the compliment. ‘Still, it all seemed to come back to me.’

  ‘Don’t be so modest, darling,’ Hartley said. ‘You’ve always loved your music, and you’ve only got better over the years.’

  ‘Actually, Angela, listening to you just now has given me an idea,’ Hilaria said. ‘Would you do me an enormous favour?’

  ‘Of course, if I can.’

  ‘If the weather doesn’t improve, we’ll be short of an organist for tomorrow’s service – our usual man comes over from Marazion. I don’t suppose you’d play for us, would you?’

  ‘Oh, I’d love to!’ Angela clapped her hands together with delight, and Josephine noticed how happy her husband seemed for her. ‘It’ll be just like the old days,’ she said, looking at him. ‘I so enjoyed playing for Richard at St Clement’s when we lived in London.’

  The name of the church obviously struck a chord with Archie. ‘St Clement’s in Notting Dale?’ he asked, and the vicar nodded. ‘That’s where we’ve met, not in Cornwall. It was Christmas 1920.’ Josephine looked curiously at him, wondering how he could be so specific. �
�Mollie Naylor and her children,’ Archie continued. ‘I was the police sergeant who found the survivors, and you came to collect them.’

  Richard Hartley stared at him. ‘Of course, I remember now. You were looking after them when I got there.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘That was one of the worst days of my life. I still have nightmares about it, even now.’

  ‘What happened?’ Josephine asked, looking at the stricken expression on Archie’s face.

  ‘A woman killed most of her children and then committed suicide,’ he said. ‘It would have been even worse, but the eldest boy had been sent out on an errand, and he came back just as his mother was turning on his sister. He saved the girl, but Mrs Naylor killed herself in front of them. It happened on Christmas Eve, and I found them hiding in the yard the next morning.’

  ‘Good God, how awful.’ Josephine stared at him, horrified. ‘What on earth drove her to do it?’

  ‘We’ll never know,’ Hartley said, ‘and I’m not sure we even found out exactly what happened. There was talk amongst the neighbours that it was actually the boy who did it and not Mrs Naylor at all. I think there might have been some truth in that. There were only two people left alive to tell the tale, after all, and his little sister worshipped him.’

  ‘It was idle gossip,’ Archie said contemptuously. ‘Dangerous gossip at that. Just because there’d been violence in the family when the father was alive, people couldn’t wait to tar the boy with the same brush. And the newspapers didn’t help – a murder like that on Christmas Eve wrote its own headlines. The bloody scandal mongers couldn’t get enough of it.’

  ‘What have we done now?’ Fielding asked with a good-natured grin as he tracked the footman down for a refill.

  ‘Sorry, present company excepted,’ Archie said, embarrassed to have been overheard.

  ‘No offence taken.’

  ‘What happened to the two children?’ Josephine asked.