The Angel Tree

by Lucinda Riley

  ‘I said that Cheska is an odd child. But then I suppose she’s had an odd life.’

  ‘Yes, she has.’

  ‘Personally, I think all this film nonsense is no way for a young one to be brought up. She needs to run about in the fresh air, put some colour in her cheeks and some meat on that thin little body of hers.’

  ‘Greta says she enjoys making the films.’

  ‘Well, it rather seems to me that Cheska has little choice in the matter or, in fact, knows no different.’

  ‘I’m sure Greta wouldn’t have her do anything that made her unhappy, Ma.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ sniffed LJ. ‘Poor little thing. Up until these past few days, it seems she didn’t even know she had a father, let alone the fact that he isn’t her natural flesh and blood.’

  ‘Come on now, Ma, this is hardly the moment.’

  ‘Greta seems to have told the child almost nothing about her past,’ LJ continued, ignoring her son’s plea. ‘For instance, what does she know about her twin brother, if anything?’

  ‘I’m not really sure. Look, Ma, try to understand that Greta has said little to Cheska about her past because she felt it was for the best. When she and Cheska moved to London, it was under extremely difficult circumstances and she obviously wanted to make a fresh start. There was no point telling Cheska what had happened until she was old enough to understand.’

  ‘You do know that you’re always defending Greta, dear?’ LJ said quietly. ‘You don’t seem to see how brittle she’s become since leaving Marchmont. She used to be such a soft, gentle soul.’

  ‘Well, if she’s become brittle, it’s because she’s had a lot to cope with. It’s hardly her fault.’

  ‘See, David? You’re doing it again. I know from personal experience that keeping your heart locked away, just because it’s been bruised in the past, is not the answer. More to the point, neither is pouring all the pent-up love stored in it into one child. Anyway,’ she said, briskly changing the subject, ‘I have a suggestion for you: why don’t you ask the two of them to stay on for a while here? If, as we presume, Owen has left the estate to Greta, she’ll need time to sort a few things out. It would also give Cheska a chance to live like a normal little girl for a few days.’

  ‘I doubt Greta will stay here any longer than she has to,’ David said. ‘Let’s wait and see what happens tomorrow.’

  ‘Well, if she does inherit, given your obvious feelings for her, marrying her would be the perfect solution to the entire jigsaw. Greta needs a husband, you need a wife, and little Cheska needs a father and a more stable existence. And Marchmont needs a man to run it, preferably a man with a blood tie to the place.’

  ‘You’re scheming, Ma! Stop it,’ David warned her. ‘Apart from anything else, I have no wish to run Marchmont, not even to please you.’

  LJ saw the anger in her son’s eyes and knew that she’d gone too far. ‘My apologies, David. I just want to see you happy.’

  ‘And I you. Now, no more talk of this,’ he said firmly. ‘Let’s go and have supper.’

  Cheska was having the dream again. He was here again, next to her . . . the boy who looked like her. His face was so pale, and he whispered things to her that she couldn’t understand. She knew all she had to do was wake up and switch on her light to see her own cosy bedroom and the nightmare would disappear. She fumbled for the lamp on the table by her bed, but her hand reached into nothingness. Desperately, she searched around, groping the air, her heart slamming against her chest.

  ‘Please, please,’ she moaned, but as her eyes became accustomed to the dull greyness of early morning it was not the comforting shapes of her bedroom she could see. It was the room in her dream.

  Cheska began to scream, ‘Mummy! Mummy! Mummy!’

  She knew she should get out of the bed and leave the room and then the nightmares would stop. But she was too terrified to move and the ghostly outlines would reach out their clammy, dead hands and . . .

  A light was switched on and her mother appeared at the door. Cheska leapt out of bed, ran across the room and threw herself into Greta’s arms.

  ‘Mummy, Mummy! Take me away from here! Take me away!’ she sobbed.

  ‘Come now, darling, whatever is the matter?’

  Cheska pushed Greta out of the room, into the corridor and slammed the nursery door behind her. ‘Don’t make me go back in there, please, Mummy!’ she begged.

  ‘All right, all right, darling. Calm down. You come along into Mummy’s bed and tell me what frightened you.’ She steered Cheska along the corridor and into her bedroom. Greta sat her on the bed and the child buried her face in her nightgown. ‘Did you have a bad dream, darling? Is that what’s wrong?’

  ‘Yes.’ She looked up at her mother with genuine fear in her eyes. ‘But it wasn’t a dream. It was real. He lives’ – Cheska shuddered – ‘in that room.’

  ‘In the nursery? Who lives there?’

  Cheska shook her head and buried her face in Greta’s chest.

  ‘Come on, darling.’ Greta stroked Cheska’s hair gently. ‘Everyone has nightmares. They’re not real. It’s simply your imagination playing silly games while you’re asleep, that’s all.’

  ‘No, no. It was real.’ Cheska’s voice was muffled. ‘I want to go home.’

  ‘We’ll be going home tomorrow, I promise. Now, why don’t we climb into my bed and snuggle up? It’s nippy now and you’ll catch cold.’

  Greta pulled Cheska under the covers with her and held her tightly. ‘There. Feeling better?’

  ‘A little bit.’

  ‘No one can hurt my baby while Mummy’s here,’ crooned Greta, as her daughter’s arms gradually slipped from around her neck. Greta lay back too, fretting over Cheska’s reaction in the nursery and wondering how much she actually remembered about Jonny. No matter, she told herself firmly, by this time tomorrow they would both be safely in London and she could pull the protective curtain back around their past.

  21

  ‘Are you sure you don’t mind looking after Cheska?’ Greta asked Mary the following day. She studied her daughter, looking for further signs of anxiety.

  ‘Of course not. Look you, we’ll have a fine time, won’t we, fach?’

  Cheska, sitting on a stool at the big kitchen table, up to her elbows in flour from the pastry she was helping Mary to make, nodded in agreement.

  ‘I won’t be gone long. Are you sure you’ll be all right?’

  ‘Yes, Mummy,’ Cheska said, a hint of exasperation in her voice.

  ‘I’ll see you later then.’ Greta left the kitchen, relieved that Cheska didn’t even look up as she went.

  David and LJ were waiting for her in the car.

  ‘How is she?’ LJ had heard the child’s screams last night.

  ‘Absolutely fine,’ replied Greta tersely. ‘I think it was just a very bad nightmare. She seems to have forgotten all about it this morning.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure she’ll have a marvellous time with Mary. Right, let’s be off.’

  David drove the few miles to Monmouth, then the three of them walked along the picturesque main street to Mr Glenwilliam’s office in tense silence.

  ‘Hello, Greta, David, Mrs Marchmont.’ Mr Glenwilliam shook them all by the hand. ‘Thank you for that wonderful spread yesterday after the funeral. I think you did Owen proud. Now, if you would all like to come through to my office, we can get down to business.’

  They followed him and settled themselves into seats in front of Mr Glenwilliam’s desk. He opened a large safe and drew out a thick roll of documents secured with a red ribbon, then sat down behind his desk and untied the bundle.

  ‘I should tell you that, at Owen’s insistence, I went to visit him approximately six weeks ago to make a fresh will, and this negates any will he may have had before. Even though he was extremely poorly, I can confirm that he was neither drunk nor deranged at the time and therefore of sound mind and body. Owen was very definite about the contents of this will. He gave an indication of
the delicacy of the situation.’ Mr Glenwilliam coughed nervously. ‘I think the best thing is to read it, and then we can discuss any points that arise.’

  ‘Let’s get on with it, then,’ said LJ, speaking for all of them.

  Mr Glenwilliam cleared his throat and began to read:

  I, Owen Marchmont, being of sound mind and body, declare that this is my final will and testament. I bequeath the Marchmont estate in its entirety to Laura-Jane Marchmont. This is on the sole condition that she lives at Marchmont for the rest of her life. When she dies, the estate is hers to dispose of as she wishes, although it would please me if she left it to David Robin Marchmont, my nephew.

  The monies held in the Marchmont bank account also pass to Laura-Jane Marchmont, for the upkeep and management of the estate. From my own, personal bank account, I bequeath the following sums:

  To my daughter, Francesca Rose Marchmont, on the condition that she visits Marchmont at least once a year until she is twenty-one years of age, the sum of fifty thousand pounds, to be held in trust for her until she is of age. This trust is to be administered by Laura-Jane Marchmont.

  To David Robin Marchmont, the sum of ten thousand pounds.

  To my wife, Greta, the sum of ten thousand pounds.

  To Mary-Jane Goughy, in recognition of the way she has cared for me during my final years, I leave the sum of five thousand pounds, plus the tenancy in perpetuity of River Cottage on the Marchmont estate.

  Mr Glenwilliam continued, naming a few additional small bursaries, but the three people in the room were no longer listening, each lost in their own thoughts.

  LJ was fighting the lump in her throat. She never cried in public.

  David was watching his mother, thinking that at last justice had been done.

  Greta was relieved it was over and that she and Cheska could return to London sixty thousand pounds richer, and only have to endure a short visit to Marchmont once a year.

  Mr Glenwilliam finished reading and removed his glasses. ‘One last thing. Owen left a personal letter for you, Greta. Here.’ He passed the envelope across the desk to her. ‘Any questions?’

  Greta knew he was waiting for her to protest that, by rights, Marchmont should have gone to her. She remained silent.

  ‘Mr Glenwilliam, could you possibly give us a few minutes alone?’ LJ asked quietly.

  ‘Of course.’

  The solicitor left the room and LJ turned to Greta. ‘My dear, there’s every chance you could prove that Owen was not of sound mind when he had this will drawn up. After all, you are Owen’s widow. If you wish to contest it, neither David nor I would stand in your way, would we, David?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘No, LJ. Owen has done what is right and best for everyone. As a matter of fact, I’m relieved. Cheska and I have a new life in London. You know as well as I do that she isn’t Owen’s child by blood and that the marriage was a failure. I think Owen has been extremely generous to us both under the circumstances. And, to be honest, I’m just glad it’s all over.’

  LJ looked at her with renewed respect. ‘Greta, let us be frank with each other. We all know why you married Owen. Apart from being fond of him,’ she added hastily. ‘And perhaps you feel some guilt for that.’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ Greta agreed.

  ‘Equally, you’re a bright woman, and I’m sure you have realised since that it suited Owen, too. Your marriage gave him a new lease of life and, most importantly for him, an heir to Marchmont, if Jonny had lived. So you see, you really mustn’t feel guilty any more, or think there is any ill-feeling on my part. You were – to some extent – an innocent pawn in a game that you knew nothing about.’

  ‘Really, LJ, you don’t need to say anything else. I’m happy for you to have the estate. I wouldn’t know where to begin when it came to looking after it.’

  ‘You’re absolutely sure, Greta? You must know that I will leave Marchmont to David in my will? It’s his by rights.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘All right then. But remember: both Marchmont and I will welcome you any time you would like to visit. Owen was obviously anxious that you and Cheska don’t lose touch with us.’

  ‘Thank you, LJ. I’ll remember that.’

  David called Mr Glenwilliam back into the room. ‘Does everything seem to be in order?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. Greta has decided she will not be contesting,’ David replied.

  Mr Glenwilliam looked relieved. ‘Now, obviously there are some legal things I have to tie up, and there will be taxes to pay on the amount Owen has bequeathed. Mrs Marchmont, you’ll need to come back and sign some documents once they’ve been through probate. And I’ll be here to offer any assistance you may need as regards the future handling of the estate. As you’re aware, I’ve been looking after the business side of things for quite some time.’

  ‘Thank you. I appreciate all your help, both past and present.’

  ‘It’s my pleasure,’ nodded Mr Glenwilliam, as the three of them stood up and filed out of his office.

  ‘Mummy, Mummy! Guess what? Mary took me across to the field and I patted a sheep!’ Cheska was ecstatic as Mary brought her into the drawing room after the others had returned from Monmouth.

  ‘How lovely.’

  ‘And the farmer says I can help him milk the cows tomorrow morning. But I shall have to be up at five o’clock.’

  ‘But, darling, we’re going back to London this afternoon.’

  ‘Oh.’ Cheska’s face fell in disappointment.

  ‘I thought you wanted to go home?’

  ‘I do—’ Cheska bit her lip. ‘But couldn’t we stay just one more day?’

  ‘We really should be getting back, Cheska. We have that photo shoot on Monday and we can’t have you looking tired.’

  ‘Just one more day. Please, Mummy.’

  ‘Why not stay on for a while, dear girl? I think it would do both of you the world of good. Look at the colour in Cheska’s cheeks. And David and I would appreciate it,’ LJ coaxed.

  Greta was startled by the abrupt change in her daughter’s mood. ‘As long as there are no silly antics about going to bed tonight, young lady.’

  ‘I promise, Mummy. Thank you!’ Cheska ran to her mother, threw her arms around her and kissed her on the cheek.

  ‘Right, that’s settled then,’ said LJ. ‘Now, I must go and find Mary and break the good news to her about River Cottage and her legacy. I’m sure it will make her and her fiancé very happy. He’s hung on for years waiting for her. I hope she’ll finally make an honest man of him. David, sort out some drinks will you, dear boy. I’m parched!’

  That night, Greta climbed into bed, having checked Cheska was fast asleep in the bedroom next to her own. She’d decided it was unwise to put her back in the nursery after the previous disturbance.

  Then she opened the letter from Owen.

  Marchmont

  Monmouthshire

  2nd May 1956

  My dear Greta,

  I write this letter knowing that you will only read it once I am dead, which is rather a strange thought. However, you now know the contents of my will and I thought I owed you an explanation.

  I have left Marchmont to Laura-Jane not least because she truly loves the estate but also because I owed it to her and David. After much thought, I decided that even if I had left it to you, it would have been a burden rather than a pleasure and you would almost certainly sell it, which would break my heart. And Laura-Jane’s.

  I understand that you didn’t have an easy time whilst you were living here and that is in part due to my latterly unpardonable behaviour, for which I am truly sorry. I was a weak man and you were caught up in something that happened many years ago. I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me and, through that forgiveness, come to look on Marchmont as a place of sanctuary, a retreat for both you and Cheska, away from your busy lives in London.

  You must believe I cared very much for you and the children, even though they were n
ot my own. You, Jonny and Cheska gave me a new lease of life, for which I am most grateful. I apologise that my grief over Jonny’s death brought that time to an end. I was not there to support you and I recognise that I behaved selfishly.

  Please tell Cheska that I loved her as my own child. Mary tells me she saw her in a film at the cinema and that she has become something of a star. I am proud I was her de-facto father, if only for a short time. The only thing that comforts me as I lie here approaching death is that soon I will see my beloved Jonny.

  I wish you both a long and happy life,

  Owen

  Greta folded the letter back into its envelope and placed it in her handbag. She felt a wave of emotion building, but she pushed it firmly away. Max, Owen, James . . . they were all part of her past. She couldn’t allow them to touch her now.

  22

  Cheska lay on her back and stared up at the big branches of the oak tree hanging above her, outlined by a perfect, cornflower-blue sky. She sighed contentedly. The film studios seemed far away, there was no one here to recognise her and, for what seemed like the first time in her short life, she was able to be completely alone and free. She felt safe here. The dream hadn’t returned since she had left the nursery after the first night.

  She sat up and looked into the distance. On the terrace, she could see Mummy and Uncle David having lunch. They’d been at Marchmont for a week now, the result of her begging and begging Mummy for them to stay longer. She lay back down again and thought how wonderful it would be if Mummy and Uncle David were to fall in love, get married and live here for ever and ever. Then she could help milk the cows every morning, have breakfast in the kitchen with Mary and go to the local school with other boys and girls.

  But it was a dream. Cheska knew that tomorrow she and Mummy would have to go back to London.

  She stood up, checked once more that Mummy wasn’t looking for her and wandered off towards the woods, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her new dungarees. She listened to the birds singing and wondered why their song sounded so much sweeter than the birds in London.