Georgina shuddered, seeing the scene again with horrible clarity. Time had not dulled the image of herself and Leonora staring at each other with mutual dislike – Leonora smiling in triumph and Georgina apoplectic with fury at being outmanoeuvred. Perhaps that was the moment, she reflected, that her heart had first come under strain.
She insisted that I need not be involved but that she and Neil would watch the races together. I at once imagined them in the punt, opening a bottle of champagne and crowing over her success – and I imagined me at home, fearing at any moment to hear news of a disaster like the one that killed Uncle Walter . . . I then made a fatal mistake by forbidding her to carry out the plan. I swear, Ida, that her eyes lit up and she made up her mind to beat me.
I was so angry that for a moment I was speechless and then I slapped her face. That took the smile off it!
Georgina regretted the last sentence but it was too late. She had written it. It made her sound spiteful and even vicious but it was the truth. Leonora had brought out the worst in her.
Then she made a mistake that was definitely fatal – she laughed and said, ‘You really are a bad-tempered old witch! Neil said you could be difficult but boy! He was being generous!’ Of course I didn’t believe a word of it. I know my son better than she did and he would never say that about me. Never!
I lashed out at her again and she took a step back, fell into the water and hit her head against the old punt as she went down. I swear I did not mean to kill her. I did not mean to push her into the water. It was an accident. Somehow I overcame my fear of the water and looked for her, hoping to pull her to the side and help her out . . .
‘I didn’t mean to kill her.’ Georgina spoke in to empty room. ‘I would never deliberately kill the twins’ mother or my son’s wife. I’m not a monster.’ She closed her eyes and swallowed, her throat dry as dust. ‘Sometimes things just happen. That was one of those times.’
But when she failed to come up again and I knew she must have drowned, I had to decide what to do. How would it be for Neil to know that I had killed his beloved Leonora? And for the twins to know that their grandmother killed their mother? It would be horrific. It would break their hearts. I knew that if they knew the truth it would ruin all their lives.
I waited and waited alone in the boat house for the body to come to the surface but it didn’t appear. I was dazed by the tragedy and at a loss what to do next. I dare not ask for help. Finally I left the boat house, locked its door and went back to the house. Claiming a bad headache I went up to my room and lay on the bed, trying to think clearly but fear and a deep horror had dulled my mind and I lay there in a confused panic . . .
Georgina rubbed her neck, which now ached painfully, and she moved her stiff limbs.
Even today, eight years later, I can still feel the horror and dread that seized me, and with it came the weight of remorse, which almost suffocated me and still does in weak moments. I started to lie, inventing a quarrel with Leonora that ended with her storming out of the house in a temper. Neil was horrified and spent days searching for her until at last he went to the police and reported her missing.
Finally in desperation he decided she had gone back to her parents in America and set off after her.
Then one day I discovered that her body had floated to the surface and while I tried to decide what to do about it, the wretched nanny continued to bombard me with questions – she was definitely suspicious and, when I could bear it no longer, we quarrelled and I telephoned for a taxicab and sent her packing. I shall never forget the look on her face . . .
The awfulness of Georgina’s task suddenly overcame her and she returned the pen to the ink stand with a trembling hand.
‘Finish it tomorrow, Georgina,’ she told herself. ‘That’s enough for today.’
Mr Prendergast had told her to ‘be kind’ to herself and she thought this was what he meant. There was no point in making herself ill. No one else cared how she felt or how much anguish she could bear . . . except Neil. Georgina took the letter and made her way up to his room.
Two days later, when Ida telephoned to ask if she could spend a few days at The Poplars, Georgina’s first instinct was to say no, but Ida explained that there was something wrong with the pipes in her flat and ‘the man’ would be coming on the nineteenth to deal with the problem. It might take several days, she told Georgina, to track down the fault and she would have no water supply during that period. Reluctantly Georgina heard herself agreeing.
Ten minutes before Richard Preston was due to arrive at The Poplars, Georgina began to panic. In some way, the letter she was writing to Ida had made her doubly fearful about the meeting. It was as if the presence of her written confession made her more vulnerable to discovery and therefore Richard Preston could prove dangerous. It was possible, she thought, that the meeting was some kind of trick to force herself to reveal things best kept hidden – a trick conceived by the police. Nothing would surprise her.
Five minutes before Preston was due to arrive, she made a sudden decision and hurried to the schoolroom.
‘Marianne, I want you to sit with me while I talk to Mr Preston,’ she said. ‘Please give the girls some work which will keep them usefully occupied for, say, twenty minutes. Then come down to the study. I don’t trust the man one inch. Oh, and be prepared. When I decide I have heard enough I shall tell him so and say, “Please see Mr Preston out, Marianne,” and you must then immediately stand up and hold the door open for him. I shall know when I have had enough of his nonsense!’
As instructed Marianne made her way to the study where she found a chair had been prepared for the visitor opposite Mrs Matlowe, who would sit in her usual chair behind the desk. The chair for Marianne was to Mrs Matlowe’s right but about six feet away, so that it was quite clear she was simply there as a supporting figure and probably not required to say much – which suited Marianne very well. She expected a difficult twenty minutes because she suspected Richard Preston wanted to broach the subject of taking the children to America.
She sat down in her allotted seat and watched as Mrs Matlowe fussed with various papers on her desk.
‘Look at that, Marianne! Five minutes late. Not a good start. Now he only has fifteen minutes of my time available to him.’
At that moment the front doorbell was rung and shortly afterwards Lorna brought Richard to the study. They all shook hands and sat down. Marianne expected her employer to explain the presence of a third person at the meeting but she did not do so.
‘Well, Mr Preston, perhaps you would state your case,’ she said, looking at him severely.
‘My case?’
‘Why are you here?’
‘Ah! I have had a letter from my parents inviting Edie and Emmie to spend a few weeks with them in . . .’
Marianne was impressed. He had plunged straight in!
‘Most certainly not, Mr Preston. You need go no further!’ Mrs Matlowe’s back had stiffened.
‘In July,’ he went on, as if she had not spoken. ‘Most children benefit from a summer break from school and . . .’
Marianne could imagine how hard he had worked on the exact wording of the request.
Mrs Matlowe shook her head. ‘Edie and Emmie do not attend school, Mr Preston. They are being educated privately, as you know, by Marianne, and we do not believe they are in need of a holiday. They are not “in need of the benefit of a summer break”, as you put it. If and when they do need a holiday, they will be taken by Marianne and myself to Scotland, Devon maybe . . . or possibly somewhere in Wales. They will not be dragged halfway round the world, Mr Preston. Please thank your parents for the invitation but tell them I have considered their offer and refused.’
Marianne found herself holding her breath.
Obviously taken aback by the abrupt rejection, Richard glanced at Marianne.
Mrs Matlowe said sharply, ‘Don’t look to Marianne for support, Mr Preston. She is in my employ and understands exactly the situation with Edie and Em
mie.’
‘Isn’t she allowed a voice?’
‘Not necessarily.’
‘Then why is she here?’
Mrs Matlowe was taken aback by this challenge. She muttered something mainly incomprehensible which ended with the word ‘impudence’ and said, ‘Marianne! Mr Preston wants to hear your opinion.’
Marianne cursed inwardly but said, ‘I do understand Mrs Matlowe’s worries, but in my opinion the twins—’
Mrs Matlowe nodded. ‘That’s enough, Marianne. Thank you.’
Marianne was wishing that she had had a chance to speak to Richard before the meeting but there had been no time. Had Mrs Matlowe done that deliberately, she wondered?
Richard took a deep breath, trying to hide his irritation. ‘Mrs Matlowe, I don’t think you are being quite fair. My sister was – is – the girls’ mother and my parents are their grandparents. Surely you can understand that they wish to see the twins.’
‘I do accept that, Mr Preston. I suggest they come to England and follow your example. Book into a hotel nearby and make visits to us here. They will not be turned away, I can assure you.’
‘But they want the twins to know where Leonora grew up and . . . and to experience the American way of life.’
Mrs Matlowe shuddered. ‘The American way of life? Are you under the impression that it is somehow superior to the English way?’
‘Not superior but very different. Your son enjoyed it immensely. He spoke of possibly moving to America.’
The silence was tangible. Marianne wondered if it were true and thought it might well be.
Shocked, Mrs Matlowe caught her breath and, quite unconsciously, laid a hand over her heart. ‘That is a lie, Mr Preston! We both know it. My son would never have considered such a thing . . . unless your sister had persuaded him. I wouldn’t put that past her.’ She glanced at Marianne. ‘Please try and convince Mr Preston that the twins are in very good hands and enjoying exactly the sort of life their father would have wished for them.’
Marianne drew a deep breath. ‘Of course they are well cared for but it may be that, had things been different, your son would have wanted them to visit their grandparents. Possibly he would have wanted you to go with them.’ She dared not look at her employer or at Richard, so she stared down at her hands instead. Had she just talked herself out of a job?
Richard said, ‘Neil loved America, Mrs Matlowe. If he were still alive—’
‘I don’t believe you, Mr Preston, and I prefer you should not take my son’s name in vain in this way.’ Mrs Matlowe was sounding decidedly breathless and her growing agitation was painfully clear. ‘You think that by putting words into his mouth, you will persuade me to change my mind but you are wrong. Neil was properly brought up and had no great admiration for the American way of life.’
How, Marianne wondered, could Richard remain so calm? He certainly would not want to antagonize her but he might eventually have no choice.
‘Mrs Matlowe, I was hoping you would be reasonable but I see you are determined not even to consider the request. I shall give you a few days in which to think it over but if you continue to deny the girls this opportunity I will be forced—’
Mrs Matlowe’s expression changed. ‘Are you trying to threaten me, Mr Preston? Marianne, you heard what he said. Does that sound like a threat to you?’
‘Oh no!’ she cried. ‘Not a threat. I believe he is trying to point out that . . . that he may well be forced . . .’
‘To do what exactly?’ Mrs Matlowe turned to him. Marianne saw with alarm that she was clutching her left arm and all colour had drained from her face.
The silence was broken by the scrape of Richard’s chair legs as he rose to his feet. ‘I shall be forced to apply to the courts for permission to take the children abroad. For a holiday. The twins are not your property, Mrs Matlowe. My parents are entitled to see them and I’ll fight you if I have to!’
‘You certainly will have to! Now I am feeling a little unwell. Please leave this house immediately. Marianne!’
Remembering her instructions, Marianne hurried to the door and opened it. Richard swept past her as she called down to the kitchen for Lorna to open the front door for him. Hurrying back to Mrs Matlowe she found her crumpled on the floor, her face ashen, groaning in obvious agony.
‘I’ll fetch your pills!’
She ran from the room, collected the pills from the cupboard in the bathroom and continued downstairs. She told Cook to telephone for the doctor. ‘Tell him Mrs Matlowe is having a heart attack!’
Later, when Mrs Matlowe had to be helped to her bed and they were awaiting the doctor’s visit, Marianne telephoned Ida to tell her what had happened.
‘Oh! The poor soul!’ she cried. ‘I’ll be with you within the hour.’
‘So how is Mrs Matlowe?’ Donald asked.
‘Not good, I’m afraid.’ Marianne shook her head and explained the situation.
It was Thursday afternoon before Marianne found time to visit Donald. The heart attack had occurred on Tuesday and Ida had taken charge of the household while Georgina was recovering with twenty-four-hour bed rest and more of the same pills. The doctor had been cautious. ‘She has had a mild attack,’ he told them. ‘It would have felt anything but mild, but a severe attack might well have killed her. She must rest and must be screened from any stress. Keep her calm. The sleeping pills will guarantee her a good night’s sleep every night, which is vital. Calm is of the essence.’
Marianne told Donald, ‘With Mrs Matlowe’s sister with us, the household seems very different. More relaxed and Ida likes to spend time with the two girls, which leaves me with a little extra time on my hands. They are out now with Hattie for their afternoon walk and then, when I get back, I am taking them to a shop in Henley that sells furniture and things for dolls’ houses. Emmie wants to buy some crockery and Edie has set her heart on a clock for the wall.’ She glanced up at the clock on the office wall and said, ‘Isn’t Judith coming in today?’
‘She’s been in but she began to feel very sick. She said it’s her “condition”! I sent her home but on the way she is collecting some forms that we need for the will case we’re dealing with.’
‘Can I do anything to help? Type a couple of letters, maybe? I haven’t much time but I could do one or two. I’m slow but careful.’
He jumped at the offer but added, ‘Only if you agree to let me take you out one evening for a meal – by way of payment!’
‘There’s no need to repay me, Donald. I’d be pleased to help.’
‘But I’ve been dying for an excuse to ask you out!’ he grinned. ‘Please say you’ll agree.’
‘It’s very kind and I’ll accept the offer with pleasure!’ Marianne smiled warmly at him.
‘On that happy note I’ll show you the drafts of the letters which I scribbled down after Judith left – to save a little time when she comes in tomorrow. Assuming she feels well enough . . . But before we go any further, I have something I must say to you. Looking back over the past few weeks I think we’ve asked too much of you. Or rather, I have. Asking you to deceive your employer over such an important issue. I put you in an awkward spot and I won’t do it any more.’
‘I was pleased to help.’
‘But the case could have ended in a prison sentence for someone – or worse, the death penalty. It would have been on your conscience and I’d be responsible.’
‘Then I’ll accept your apology, Donald. But don’t feel too badly because I could have refused to help.’
They exchanged a long look and both of them realized that somehow their relationship was undergoing a change. Marianne was touched by what he had said and by the concern he had shown for her. It must have been hard to admit a mistake and apologize. She had liked him before but now he had gone up in her estimation. She wanted to say more but maybe they had said enough for now. One step at a time.
Instead she smiled and said, ‘So find the letters for me, Donald, and I’ll make a start.’
When the telephone rang later that evening it was Ida who answered it. Unused to staff, she found it more natural to do things for herself.
It was Richard Preston. ‘I was hoping to speak to Mrs Matlowe but I understand she’s not well. I’m sorry to hear that.’
Ida said bluntly, ‘It was a heart attack brought on by your meeting on Tuesday. I’m afraid she became very anxious and that’s a risk with her heart in its present state. She’s dozing and I know she won’t speak to you, even if I wake her – which I won’t do. Can I help?’ He hesitated and her heart sank. ‘You’re taking her to court, Mr Preston – is that it?’
‘No, not at all. At least, not yet. I have found a suitable solicitor who will be advising me, but this is about Edie and Emmie. I promised Ivy Busby that I would take the girls to see her. I was hoping Mrs Matlowe would allow that to happen.’
‘Ah! A tricky problem! Let me think . . .’
‘It would only be for an hour, excluding the journey to and from the home. Not a full day’s outing.’
‘Hmm. If I don’t mention it until they are safely back here, it might be possible. If my sister doesn’t know about it until it’s over . . . You see where I’m going with this?’ She stared at herself in the hall mirror and frowned, seeing a few more grey hairs. ‘On the other hand, is it worth risking another upset? The twins won’t remember the nanny, will they? As far as I recall they were very young – only infants when Miss Busby was . . . when Georgina dispensed with her services.’
‘The visit is primarily for Nan’s benefit,’ he told her. ‘She remembers them clearly but hasn’t seen them since she was sacked.’
The Boat House Page 18
