Three Graces

by Victoria Connelly

  It was a typical Monday morning in the kitchen in their apartment. Nanny was making breakfast for the girls who were arguing over whose turn it was to claim the plastic finger puppet from the cereal packet. They’d succeeded in sending a shower of cereal over the tablecloth and were making such a noise that nanny actually shouted at them. But nothing could upset Carys that morning. Or so she thought. She felt she was glowing from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. The evening walk and early night of pampering and passion had done her the world of good. Richard too! He’d left for the estate office with a smile on his face instead of a frown.

  ‘Will you two stop fighting - this instant!’ Nanny shouted, grabbing hold of the plastic finger puppet and placing it in the pocket of her apron.

  ‘That’s not fair!’ Cecily whined. ‘See what you’ve done now, stupid!’

  ‘I’m not stupid. You’re stupid. And you’re too old for finger puppets, anyway. You’re always telling me you’re a grown-up!’ Evie retorted.

  Carys couldn’t help but smile at Evie’s logic. Buttering two slices of toast, she munched happily, thinking of the day ahead. The ghost tour! She’d get to work on the advertising and the guide. And she had to ring Mr Morris about the Montella exhibition. He wanted to come over this week to discuss the paintings he wanted on loan.

  Washing her breakfast down with a glass of cold apple juice, Carys danced down the stairs and almost skipped along the corridor to her office where she saw that the door was ajar.

  ‘Mrs Franklin?’ Carys called. It was early still but Mrs Franklin might have turned up early knowing how much work there was to get through.

  Entering the office, she saw that it wasn’t Mrs Franklin at all. It was Richard.

  ‘Darling! What a nice surprise,’ she said, delighted to see him again so soon. ‘I thought you’d disappeared for the day and I wouldn’t see you for at least -’

  ‘What the HELL is this?’ he asked, throwing a newspaper down on her desk.

  ‘What?’ Carys asked, alarmed by his anger. ‘Is it that Barston Hall again? Don’t tell me, they’ve-’

  ‘It’s not bloody Barston Hall.’

  Carys picked up the copy of The Cuthland News and immediately felt all the blood draining from her face. It was her! There was a photograph of her on the front cover of The Cuthland News. She was wearing Ash’s old tweed cap, her hair scraped away from her face in a ponytail. It had been whilst she was walking the dogs - taken at the precise moment when she’d been frowning up at the clouds.

  ‘Duchess deep in thought’ the caption read.

  Deep in thought! Like every other Englishman, she was doing no more than berating the weather.

  Her mind reeled back. The photographer! That man hiding in the trees with his outrageously elongated camera.

  ‘He said he wanted some pictures of the house,’ Carys said.

  ‘Who did?’

  ‘The man who took this photograph.’

  ‘And what about this?’ Richard pointed to the headline.

  Carys swallowed hard as she read the words Duchess in Distress over Marriage. ‘Oh my God,’ she whispered. ‘Why have they written that?’

  ‘You tell me!’ Richard thundered.

  The telephone rang. Richard, without asking, picked it up. ‘No she bloody isn’t available for comment.’ And he slammed the phone down.

  ‘Who was that?’

  ‘One of the bloody nationals has picked up on this now. Carys, how could you?’

  ‘But I haven’t done anything!’

  ‘Then how do you account for this?’

  Carys shook her head. ‘I really don’t know,’ she said. Or did she?

  ‘What? What is it? Because you’d better tell me if you know something.’

  ‘I think somebody has been asking me questions,’ she said in a very quiet voice. ‘But I had no idea…’ her voice petered out as she picked up the newspaper and skimmed the story. It was awful.

  ‘I don’t know what half the rooms are for,’ the duchess said, eyes glazed.

  ‘I didn’t say that!’ Carys protested as she read. ‘She said that!’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The reporter!’

  ‘But you agreed?’

  ‘Well, I-’ Carys read on.

  The new duchess complained that she never sees her husband and said that she had even thought about running away.

  ‘This is the trouble when the aristocracy marries outside its own circle,’ Lady Bleasingdale of Haver Abbey said. ‘They don’t understand what they are taking on.’

  Cary’s mouth dropped open at the thought of somebody she didn’t know passing judgement on her marriage in such a damning and knowledgeable manner.

  ‘Who on earth is Lady Bleasingdale?’

  ‘That’s of very little consequence,’ Richard said. ‘God, Carys! Do you realise what damage this could do to us? Do you realise how we come across in this piece? What’s everyone going to think?’

  ‘It’s not my fault!’

  ‘Then whose fault is it?’

  ‘Natasha’s! The reporter,’ Carys said, her face burning scarlet as she remembered talking to her - trusting her. What a fool she’d been.

  ‘She was only doing her job.’

  ‘But I wasn’t to know that. I didn’t know she was interviewing me.’

  ‘Whenever you speak to a reporter, you’re being interviewed. You really are very naïve.’

  The words hung between them like a barrier. Carys could feel tears pricking her eyes at the harshness of Richard’s gaze and the sharpness of his words. How could he talk to her like that? How could this have happened after their wonderful, golden evening together?

  Quickly, she blinked her tears back and took a deep breath. ‘I thought you said Amberley could use some extra publicity.’ She was grasping at straws, she knew, but she didn’t know what else to say.

  ‘That’s not the kind of publicity I had in mind,’ Richard said dismissively.

  ‘But Valerie Buckley-Stewart told me even bad publicity is good.’

  Richard’s frown deepened. ‘You’ve been talking to the Buckley-Stewarts?’

  Carys bit her lip. She could do no right at the moment; that much was obvious.

  ‘Look,’ he said at last, ‘I’ve got things to do. I could be doing without this at the moment. For God’s sake-’

  She’d never heard him swear and blaspheme so much before.

  ‘-For God’s sake, don’t go talking to anyone else.’

  ‘I won’t,’ she said, frowning, and watched as he left the room. He didn’t take the paper with him.

  Carys picked it up and opened it. The story continued on page three and there was another unflattering photograph of her striding across the lawn. She looked like a farmer in her cap and wellies. There was even an editor’s comment on page twelve. What have the aristocracy to complain about? No doubt that would spawn a deluge of letters in the next few days’ papers.

  What really annoyed Carys was the fact that, underneath the headline were the words, Exclusive by Natasha Bryant. The cheek! The absolute effrontery of the woman. Carys could picture her running into the office the day after the YBG meeting.

  Listen to this, everyone! You won’t believe the scoop I’ve got. That naïve Carys Cuthland - the new duchess - well …’

  Carys winced. It was just too much. She sank down onto her chair, her shoulders slumped in defeat.

  There was a light knock on the door.

  ‘What is it?’ Carys asked, half expecting it to be some impudent reporter.

  ‘My lady?’

  ‘Oh, Mrs Travis. What is it?’

  ‘I thought you might like a cup of tea,’ she said, crossing the room and placing a china mug on her desk.

  ‘Thank you,’ Carys said, hoping Mrs Travis wasn’t going to be too kind. Kindness, she thought, might just burst the dam of tears she was doing her best to hold back. ‘I suppose you’ve seen the paper?’

  ‘Oh! I do hope you’re not wor
ried about that, my lady.’

  ‘It’s terrible. Just terrible!’

  ‘You should’ve seen what they used to print about Lord C’s mother during her time as duchess.’

  Carys blinked. Francesca! She hadn’t even thought of her. She was going to see the paper, wasn’t she? What was she going to make of her new daughter-in-law now?

  ‘What did they used to say?’

  ‘Dreadful rubbish. All made up to sell a few extra copies. If they can’t dish the dirt on actors, they go after aristocrats.’

  Carys gave a faint smile. ‘And I was a sitting duck.’

  ‘It isn’t your fault.’

  ‘Can you tell Lord C that for me, please?’

  ‘Oh, is he worried? He should know better than that. And it’s all publicity for Amberley.’

  ‘That’s what I told him.’

  ‘You’ll have people queuing round the block to catch a glimpse of you now.’

  Carys started. ‘You think so?’

  ‘Absolutely. I’ve seen it before.’

  ‘But I looked so horrendous in those photos.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. People know you’re not. We all have our cap and welly moments,’ Mrs Travis said with a wink which made Carys smile a little. ‘You’ll be quite the local celebrity now.’

  ‘Celebrity!’ Carys said. She hated the word. To her, it smacked of naff reality shows and people who were famous for contributing absolutely nothing to the world. She didn’t want to be a celebrity. Unless…

  ‘You really think it will be good for Amberley?’

  Mrs Travis nodded. Just you wait and see.’

  She was right too. No sooner had the gates opened than a steady stream of cars could be seen along the driveway. Carys, hiding out in the safety of her office, watched as crowds of people made their way to the entrance. Some of them were even holding newspapers! Carys gawped in amazement. Was this good or really very bad indeed? She couldn’t tell. At least Richard wasn’t anywhere near the house to see.

  The telephone rang. Should she pick up? It could be another paper and she was terrified of saying the wrong thing again and Mrs Franklin wasn’t in yet to intercept for her.

  ‘Hello,’ she began hesitantly and then cleared her throat. ‘Carys Cuthland.’

  ‘Oh, Carys!’ It was Phoebe. ‘I’ve just seen the papers and it’s just too awful! How are you? Has Richard seen it yet?’

  ‘I’m afraid he has.’

  ‘And was he terribly upset?’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘Oh, dear! And it’s all my fault,’ Phoebe said.

  ‘It isn’t your fault at all.’

  ‘At any rate, Natasha Bryant is hereby expelled from the YBGs, that’s for sure. I’ve talked to Serena and she agrees completely. It’s completely unacceptable conduct. I can’t believe she used to be our friend and confidante.’

  ‘Oh, Phoebe. I don’t want you to lose a friend over this.’

  ‘A friend! A fiend more like! I should have known we couldn’t trust her. I always knew there was something sneaky about her.’

  Carys couldn’t help but smile. Phoebe trusted everyone and never had a bad word to say about anyone. She would allow the very devil himself to join the YBGs if he asked, believing him to have been misrepresented and maligned.

  ‘The question is, what are we going to do about it?’ Phoebe asked.

  ‘There’s not much we can do, is there? The damage is done now. You can’t unprint a story. Anyway, it seems to be bringing in the tourists. I’ve never seen so many people visiting on a Monday morning.’

  ‘Really? Well, that can’t be bad news,’ Phoebe laughed. ‘And are you going to mingle?’

  ‘No!’ Carys yelled.

  ‘I think you should. They’d love that. Tell all their friends they’d met a duchess.’

  ‘Phoebe, you are dreadful.’

  ‘Listen, I’ve got to dash. I’m seeing an estate agent.’

  ‘Another property on the horizon?’

  ‘No, just seeing an estate agent - Phillip.’

  Carys grinned as Phoebe hung up and, as soon as she placed the receiver down, the phone rang again.

  ‘I do hope you’re making the most of this wonderful publicity,’ Valerie Buckley-Stewart’s voice ordered down the phone.

  ‘Valerie! It’s just awful. I was just telling Phoebe that the place is crawling with visitors.’

  ‘You lucky thing! We’re as quiet as a churchyard. You must have stolen all our tourists.’

  Carys smiled. She’d have to tell Richard that one. That might cheer him up a bit if he thought he’d got one over on Barston.

  ‘But I think it’s awful.’

  ‘It’s absolutely nothing to worry about, darling. You know you’ve made it when you become public enemy number one in the local rag.’

  Carys couldn’t quite see the logic in that comment.

  ‘Trust me. The public will love you. They won’t blame you at all.’

  ‘Well, I’m going to be hiding in my office for the rest of the week until it’s all died down.’

  ‘Oh, my dear! You mustn’t do that. Everyone will want to see you. They’ll expect you to make an appearance. They’ll be very disappointed if you don’t.’

  ‘That’s just what Phoebe was saying.’

  ‘And very astute of her. You’ve got to get outside this instant and mingle. Let them know how upset you are over this story. Get them on your side. They’ve love you for it.’

  Mingle, mingle, mingle. That’s what Phoebe and Valerie had said but Carys wasn’t at all sure about their advice as she stepped out of the private entrance and walked out towards the main gardens. There was a crowd of people admiring the flowers and, from what Carys could see, most of them were carrying cameras.

  ‘There she is!’ someone shouted from behind a clump of hollyhocks.

  ‘It’s really her! It’s the duchess!’

  Carys gulped as a stampede of tourists charged towards her. She was too stunned to do anything but stand absolutely still.

  ‘Can I have my picture taken with you?’ a lady asked, thrusting her camera into her husband’s hand and linking her arm round Carys before she could protest. ‘You’re much prettier than your photo in the paper,’ the lady told her.

  ‘Will you sign my guidebook?’ another asked. ‘To Melanie.’

  Carys took the pen that was handed her. Valerie Buckley-Stewart had been absolutely right - she was a celebrity. She tried to smile but didn’t dare trust herself to say anything.

  ‘You mustn’t take any notice of the papers,’ an elderly gentleman said. ‘Fish wrap, that’s all. Don’t you go worrying your head.’

  ‘Thank you-’

  ‘I’m going to write in and give them what for - sticking their nose in where it isn’t wanted. It’s disgusting.’

  ‘What’s the world coming to?’

  ‘It’s a disgrace.’

  ‘Disgrace!’ Somebody laughed. ‘Get it? Dis-grace?’

  Nobody seemed to get it but Carys smiled politely.

  ‘I hope that husband of yours has learnt from it,’ another lady said.

  ‘Enid!’ her husband chided. ‘That’s enough.’

  ‘I’m only speaking my mind. If the story is true, then he needs a good talking to - leaving his young bride to cope on her own all day.’

  ‘It really isn’t as bad as-’

  ‘You men have no idea what us women have to adapt to when we take you on.’

  Her husband rolled his eyes. He’d heard it all before.

  ‘All I’m saying is, it can’t be easy moving into a monstrous house like this. No disrespect intended.’

  And on it went. Carys nodded and smiled and signed guidebooks and did very little really until everybody had calmed down and decided to move on. A duchess was only a human after all.

  She was just retracing her steps back to the safety of the house when another group of tourists appeared out of nowhere.

  ‘There she is!’ someone cr
ied and a dozen pairs of feet hurtled across the gravel driveway in pursuit of their prey.

  Carys picked up speed and only just made it to the door in time, her heart hammering inside her chest. This was terrible! She had to get away.

  And she knew just the place too.

  Chapter 23

  Without further delay, Fabio kissed Rosa fully on the mouth and she responded with a low moan. He made her feel beautiful and she hadn’t felt beautiful in such a long time.

  Carys closed Places of Passion at the end of chapter sixteen and smiled across the room at Great Aunt Violet. Less than ninety minutes ago, she’d sneaked out of Amberley wearing a pair of dark sunglasses and a woolly hat despite the summer sun. She thought she’d be too recognisable in Ash’s old tweed cap as that’s what she was wearing in the photographs gracing The Cuthland News. She had felt silly, though - as if she were pretending to be a famous actress escaping a mob - but it had worked and here she was in the safety of Aunt Violet’s town house. It was a wonderful haven away from Amberley. She knew that she was a coward to run away but she really felt that it had been the only option. There was no hiding even in her office as the phone had been ringing constantly and Mrs Travis always seemed to know which part of the house she was in if she tried to disappear to an obscure drawing room.

  ‘I’m not at all sure about this Fabio character,’ Aunt Violet said after a pause, bringing Carys back to the present. ‘I think he’s hiding something.’

  ‘But Johnny isn’t right for Rosa either. He proved that when she found out about his ex-wife and the way he treated her.’

  ‘Sure she was telling the truth?’

  Carys frowned. She hadn’t thought of that.

  ‘And what about Danny? The psychologist.’

  ‘Too dependable,’ Aunt Violet said. ‘Not exciting enough for our Rosa.’

  Our Rosa. It had become a familiar phrase throughout Carys’s readings at Aunt Violet’s. It was as if the writer had created the character purely for their entertainment and that she belonged to them and them alone.