‘Right, so now we’ve all got our coffee,’ Marina began, breaking in on Anna’s thoughts, ‘let me explain what this is all about.’
‘If there’s any explaining to be done, I’ll be the one to do it!’ Anna’s father turned away from the mirror and strode over to his favourite armchair, brushing an invisible speck from his shirt sleeve, and gesticulating to Mallory to finish her phone call. ‘The fact is that, through absolutely no fault of my own . . .’ He paused briefly as Mallory, pouting sulkily, flung her phone on to the sofa. ‘. . . no fault of my own whatsoever, I am experiencing a few minor money troubles.’
‘I’d love to know what major ones would be like,’ Marina muttered, and received a withering look from Walter.
‘The banks are being totally unreasonable, treating me as if I were just some ordinary punter; that lot at ITV3 need their heads examined, and of course, this confounded government couldn’t manage a two-year-old’s birthday party, never mind stabilising my investments.’ He sighed, as if he alone were the fall guy for the government’s ineptitude. ‘But,’ he went on, brightening a little, ‘I’ve made some cutbacks, which along with a few new irons I’ve got in the fire – aha! There’s the paper.’
His eyes lit up as he seized the paper from the piano stool where Gaby had thrown it once she had deduced what lay in store for Librans. ‘What on earth – the front page is in shreds and . . . good grief!’
Walter shook the paper impatiently as Anna pulled her T-shirt down over her hips in the hope of hiding the slight bulge in her back pocket. ‘That wretched paper boy – just stuffs the paper through the letter box – look at this!’
‘Walter, just leave it – we must get this thing sorted and time’s running out,’ Marina said impatiently, glancing anxiously at her watch.
‘In a minute, in a minute,’ he said, waving a hand at her. ‘I had a tip off that I’d be mentioned in the Roving Eye column today.’ He began flicking eagerly through to the sports pages. ‘Right now, let’s see what they’ve got to say,’ he cried. ‘The meeting at Goodwood yesterday . . . first race won by Triumphant Too . . . yeah, yeah, blah, blah! Ah, here we are!’
He stabbed the paper with his finger, folded it in half and began reading.
‘Listen to this. Sorely missed in the owners’ enclosure was the ebullient presence of Walter Eliot, whose lively wit and generous spirit has been a hallmark of the June meeting for many years.’
He glanced up from the paper. ‘Lively wit – I like that.’
Anna sighed. She loved her father but his thirst for compliments could be very tiresome.
‘Following the sale at the end of last season of his two promising fillies, Go Girl Go and Hampton Heroine,’ he went on, running his finger down the column, ‘it is rumoured that Eliott is yet another victim of the economic downturn and concern was being expressed by sources close to the family that since his somewhat public fall from grace . . . Fall from grace? How dare they!’ he spluttered. ‘I was the victim of a hate campaign – and what’s this?’ He stubbed the paper with his finger. ‘. . . he may be forced to withdraw his sponsorship of the Hampton House Stakes held every September at this course . . .’
‘Sources close to the family?’ he exploded. ‘What idiot has been spreading such malicious gossip?’ He glared at Marina as if half suspecting her of running off to the press. ‘As if I would dream of pulling out of such a high profile commitment. I’ve sponsored it for years, I have a box there – I mean, what would my friends think if I were to back out now?’
‘If they had any sense, which I sometimes doubt,’ Marina replied dryly, ‘they would consider it the only possible thing to do in the circumstances. Walter, you are broke: for whatever reason, you have no job. You made a pile of money and spent treble. You’ve been living on credit and goodwill for years, and now both have run out. Accept it.’
She glanced at Walter whose cheeks were suddenly suffused with colour and who looked as if he might have a stroke at any second. ‘But of course,’ she went on hastily, fearing for Walter’s already high blood pressure, ‘if you do as I suggest, then within a few years, who knows? You could be living back here again, and racing and . . .’
‘What do you mean, living here again?’ Gaby burst out, tossing her magazine aside and glaring at Marina. ‘You said we didn’t have to move.’
‘I said no such thing,’ Marina reminded her. ‘I said this house might not be sold.’ She turned to Walter. ‘Shall I tell them or will you?’
Since Walter, eyes bulging alarmingly, made no reply other than a muttered expletive under his breath, she went on.
‘My suggestion is that your father leases this place out. Selling the horses and cars has helped a bit, but nothing like enough. The current situation calls for drastic measures. The rent for a long-term lease would be quite substantial and what with the stables, and the tennis court, not to mention the planning permission for the barn conversion, which the tenants could invoke, well it’s very desirable.’
‘But . . .’ Mallory and Gaby began together.
‘Let me finish. Your father would still own the freehold, the upkeep would be taken care of by the tenants and . . . oh, it’s complicated, but the solicitor says that provided you tighten your belts, all of you, and . . .’
‘And where would we live exactly?’ Gaby asked sarcastically. ‘Or haven’t you thought of that?’
‘Of course I have, and it’s a splendid solution,’ Marina replied equably.
Anna held her breath; she had a pretty good idea what was coming. Marina had hinted to Anna that she would be delighted with her plan, which could mean only one thing: Marina was going to let them live at Magpie Cottage. It made perfect sense; Marina always said she preferred her London flat, and the cottage (which despite its name was really quite a sizeable house) was only a couple of miles from Kellynch, the Buckinghamshire village eight miles from Fleckford where the Eliots had lived for years; and that meant they would still be within easy reach of all their friends.
‘A really amazing opportunity,’ Marina went on, with just a hint of nervousness in her voice. ‘I have some friends who own a second home, a rather lovely apartment. They’re going to Australia for three or four years to help their son set up a business and won’t be able to use it.’
Anna’s heart lurched. ‘An apartment?’ she stammered.
‘That’s right,’ Marina went on. ‘They’re offering it to your father, rent free, because they want someone to keep an eye on it. And because I made it a condition of my fairly sizeable investment in their son’s little venture,’ she added casually.
‘What? Be some sort of unpaid housekeepers? You have to be kidding!’ Gaby sneered.
‘Precisely,’ Walter grunted.
‘Hang on a minute,’ Mallory interrupted, perking up slightly. ‘Where is this apartment? Spain? Italy?’
‘Eastbourne,’ Marina replied.
Anna felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach.
‘Eastbourne?’ Mallory cried. ‘Are you completely mad? You expect us to live in some grotty seaside town full of geriatrics? No way!’
For once, Anna was in total agreement with her sister. ‘We can’t move to Eastbourne!’ she began. ‘What about the band? We’ve got loads of gigs.’
Anna played tenor saxophone with Wild Chicks, an all-girl jazz quartet made up of her mates from school. They were making quite a name for themselves in the area and she couldn’t let her friends down at this late stage.
‘And there’s my holiday job,’ Anna went on.
‘Now you’re both being silly,’ Marina asserted. ‘Anna, holiday jobs will be ten a penny in a seaside town and besides, you’re leaving school next week; the band will be a thing of the past.’
‘No way – we’re keeping it going. We’ll meet up in the holidays and —’
‘And Mallory dear, Eastbourne is really a very stylish place to live these days,’ Marina went on, ignoring Anna completely. ‘There’s the theatre, and concerts, excel
lent shops, wonderful walking on the Downs and the cliffs and to top it all —’
‘But an apartment?’ Walter blustered.
‘It’s not just any apartment; it’s a huge penthouse and, even better, it’s at Sovereign Harbour overlooking the marina.’
‘The marina, eh?’ For a moment Walter perked up visibly.
Marina seized her chance. ‘I believe some of your sailing friends have boats moored there?’ she murmured, moving towards him. ‘The Dalrymples?’
Walter inclined his head and gave a faint nod.
‘True,’ he replied. ‘They’ve just bought a new seventy-five-footer. I suppose they would be delighted to have me on hand to crew for them. Couldn’t do them any harm, with my know-how and I’d have no trouble getting into the Sailing Club, not being who I am.’
He rocked back and forth on his heels, the epitome of pomposity. ‘And I do believe the Hendersons were talking about keeping their motor cruiser down there,’ he went on. ‘Not that they have a clue about boats.’
‘I don’t care if Ellen flipping MacArthur has a whole bloody fleet there,’ Gaby muttered. ‘What about my social life, my friends?’
‘You’ll be at college most of the time,’ Marina reminded her. ‘And there are trains to London every half-hour and you have your car, though you’re going to have to pay the running costs yourself from now on – no more money from your father. Maybe you should get a job.’
‘And what about me?’ Mallory piped up. ‘It’s OK for those two, but no way am I going to move away from Charlie – not now he’s finally asked me out.’
She looked smugly at her sisters. Gaby was between boyfriends (Gaby was frequently between boyfriends on account of no one quite matching up to her exacting standards) and Anna hadn’t had a boyfriend since the big bust up. Mallory never missed an opportunity to remind them that, although she was the youngest, she was the one with a serious love life.
‘You’re away at school all term,’ Marina reasoned. ‘Obviously you can’t leave school in the middle of your A-levels, so that’s an expense that’ll have to be covered.’
‘Look,’ Walter burst out. ‘I really don’t know why you’re worrying about all these details right now. There’s no need – after all, even if I were to agree to rent this place out, and I’m not saying I will – it will take months to find a suitable tenant and by then . . .’
‘I’ve already found one.’
There was a stunned silence as four pairs of eyes fixed on Marina.
‘Quite by chance, and clearly meant to be,’ she went on triumphantly. ‘You remember my friend Jaspar Shepherd?’
‘Which one’s he?’ Gaby asked somewhat sarcastically. ‘I get confused with all your hangers-on.’
Marina had a number of men friends who escorted her to the theatre and to parties ever since Gerald, the one man she had begun to consider as a possible long-term partner, gave up waiting and took himself off to South Africa with a woman young enough to be his grand-daughter.
‘The Scottish one,’ Marina replied briskly. ‘Anyway, he was telling me about these friends of his who have been working all over the world for years and are now back in the UK, and desperate to settle in this part of the world. Childhood memories, apparently.’
‘I am not selling,’ Walter stressed.
‘They don’t want to buy,’ Marina went on. ‘Something about their capital being tied up in overseas funds. Anyway, they want to rent somewhere large enough to have house parties and entertain in style and then decide where to settle in a few years’ time when their investments mature. I told Jaspar to get in touch with them right away about this place. He did – and you know what?’ She glanced at her watch. ‘They’ll be here any minute now to take a look!’
For a moment no one moved. They all just stared at Marina, who, after a second, did have the good grace to look just slightly embarrassed.
‘You may think I’ve been a bit presumptuous,’ she began, making a show of tidying the pile of glossy magazines on the coffee table.
‘And the rest,’ Gaby muttered.
‘You always were a control freak,’ Walter retorted. ‘Meddling in things that don’t concern you. If it wasn’t for the fact that you were darling Alice’s best friend . . .’
He turned away for a second to compose himself. Pompous and self-opinionated he might be, but no one could deny his love for his dead wife. His spending had escalated every month since she’d died as if he were trying to blot out his grief the only way he knew how.
‘And anyway, who are these people? Do we know anything about them?’ he demanded, seconds later. ‘I’m not having just anyone living here. I have an image to sustain, a reputation.’
‘Exactly,’ Marina smiled. ‘Which is why I think the Crofts would be perfect tenants.’
It was all Anna could do to suppress her sharp intake of breath at the sound of that name. Surely, it couldn’t be? No, it was ridiculous; there were probably loads of Crofts around.
‘Croft? Not the sherry people we met at the Harrisons?’ For a moment, Walter brightened visibly.
‘No, Ruth’s an artist and Joseph’s an anthropologist. Clever man – goes all over the world recording the oral traditions of threatened tribes or something. Written a couple of books and he’s planning a documentary – very well respected.’
It is them, Anna thought. That description couldn’t fit anyone else. She was coming here. Ruth Croft – Felix’s aunt. She stared at Marina, astonished that she hadn’t made the connection. But then, on second thoughts, why should she? All she and Anna’s father had been interested in was splitting Anna up from Felix Wentworth, not analysing his family tree.
Her musings were interrupted by her father’s cry of astonishment and the sound of car wheels scrunching on the gravel.
‘That’s an Aston Martin!’ Walter exclaimed, striding across to the window and peering out. ‘Are these the people who want this place? Good taste in cars, I’ll grant them that – good heavens! They’re black.’
‘Your point being?’ Marina asked sternly.
‘Well, I – nothing, I mean, it’s not as if I have any prejudices at all, despite what some elements of the gutter press may have cooked up and —’
‘So this would be a great opportunity to prove that to the world, wouldn’t it?’ Marina concluded decisively. ‘Now, girls, do go upstairs and check that your bedrooms are tidy – we want to make a good impression.’
I can’t do this, Anna thought, as her sisters, muttering under their breath, ambled out of the room. What if Ruth realises who I am? Felix must have talked to her about me – he told her everything. What if he sent her a photo? He was always emailing pictures to his mates.
The doorbell chimed.
‘Anna, darling, get that will you, while I clear away these cups,’ Marina called. ‘Quick, quick, we don’t want to keep the Crofts waiting.’
Anna’s heart was pounding as she walked towards the door.
‘And Walter, you will at least consider them as tenants, won’t you?’ she heard Marina plead above the clatter of crockery.
‘I suppose,’ her father acknowledged. ‘Provided, of course, they seem to be the right type of people moving in the right circles. No skeletons in the cupboard, bad connections, that sort of thing.’
Listening to him going on, Anna knew she couldn’t do it. Whatever Marina said, there couldn’t be many people in the middle of a recession who could afford the rental on a six-bedroomed house with two acres of garden. If by any chance Ruth Croft did make the connection and mention Felix – or worse still his mother – then no way would her father even consider having them in his house. Her sisters might have their heads buried in the sand, but Anna knew how desperate things were – and how quickly they needed to be sorted.
She turned and ran up the two flights of stairs to her bedroom, as the doorbell rang urgently for the second time. Ignoring the shouts from her godmother, she grabbed the photograph that she kept Blu-tacked to the side of her war
drobe. Standing on tiptoe, she pulled a box from the top shelf, flopped down on the bed and opened the lid, as Marina’s cut-glass tones wafted up the stairs as she greeted the Crofts.
For a moment, Anna gazed at the photo, now curling slightly at the edges, and ran her finger gently over Felix’s smiling face. Her hand went to the bottom of the box where her journal lay. She resisted the urge to pull it out – what was the point? Re-reading it only made her miserable, acutely aware yet again of what she’d lost.
She tossed the photograph into the box, shoved it back into the wardrobe and headed for the bedroom door, intent on getting out of the house before she had to face Felix’s aunt.
But it was too late. She heard Marina’s voice on the stairs.
‘And just up this second flight of stairs is another bedroom with en suite shower.’
Within seconds there was a brisk tap on her door.
‘Can we come in, dear?’
Without waiting for an answer, Marina opened the door and there she was. Felix’s Auntie Roo, easily recognisable from the photos Felix had shown her, and wearing a voluminous yellow and black kaftan with a matching bandana on her head and vast quantities of bangles on her chubby wrists. Behind her, rimless spectacles perched on the end of his nose, was her husband Joseph, a man with graying curly black hair, as slender as his wife was voluptuous, who was already stretching his hand out to shake Anna’s.
‘This is my god-daughter, Anna,’ Marina began. ‘She’s just finished school and —’
‘Oh, but what a lovely room!’ Ruth exclaimed, clapping her hands in delight and walking across to the gabled window. ‘Just look at that view! Now this will be perfect for when my nephew comes to stay.’
Echoes of Love Page 2
