Walking through the tall trees reminded Cheska of the set for Hansel and Gretel, a film she had made last year which Mummy had said had been a big Christmas hit. As she walked deeper into the woods, she wondered if there was a wicked witch in a house of sugar-icing waiting to eat her, but as a leafy glade appeared, all she saw was a dear little fir tree, with a piece of stone underneath it.
Moving towards it, Cheska realised it was a gravestone and shuddered at the thought of the person lying under the earth. She knelt down in front of it. The inscription was embossed in gold and very clear.
JONATHAN (JONNY) MARCHMONT
Beloved son of Owen and Greta
Brother of Francesca
BORN 2ND JUNE 1946
DIED 6TH JUNE 1949
May God guide his little angel up to Heaven
Cheska gasped.
Jonny . . .
Fleeting memories she could not quite hold on to came into her head.
Jonny . . . Jonny . . .
Then she heard someone whispering.
‘Cheska, Cheska . . .’
It was the voice of the boy in her dream. The dead boy, lying in the coffin. The one who had come to her in the nursery that night.
‘Cheska, Cheska . . . come and play with me.’
‘No!’
Cheska stood up and covered her ears with her hands, then ran from the woods as fast as her legs would carry her.
‘Greta, as it’s your last night tonight, I thought I might take you out to dinner in Monmouth,’ David suggested as they sat on the terrace drinking coffee.
‘I . . . Goodness me, Cheska looks as though she’s being chased by a hungry lion!’ Greta’s attention was diverted as she watched her daughter racing towards them. She arrived, panting hard, and threw herself into Greta’s arms.
‘What is it, darling?’
Cheska looked up at Greta. Then she shook her head firmly. ‘Nothing. I’m fine. Sorry, Mummy. Can I go and see Mary in the kitchen? She said I could help her make a cake to take home to London with us.’
‘Yes, of course you can. Cheska?’
‘Yes, Mummy?’
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
‘Yes, Mummy.’ She nodded and disappeared into the house.
The interior of the Griffin Arms was bathed in soft candlelight as David and Greta entered the restaurant. They were shown to an intimate corner table beneath the ancient rafters, set with gleaming silver cutlery and delicate crystal wine glasses.
‘Sir, madam, may I get you something to drink?’ asked the head waiter.
‘Yes, a bottle of your best champagne, please,’ said David.
‘Very good, sir,’ he said, handing them both menus. ‘I would recommend the prawns, which were freshly caught today, and also the Welsh lamb. And may I also say, sir, how much I enjoyed your last film.’
‘Thank you. You’re most kind,’ said David, embarrassed, as always, to be recognised.
After ordering what the head waiter had recommended, they sat drinking champagne and chatting about LJ and Marchmont.
‘It’s such a shame that Cheska has to go back to London tomorrow. She seems to have blossomed in the past few days,’ David commented.
‘Yes, I’m sure it’s done her good, but we can’t have her public disappointed, can we?’
‘I suppose not,’ murmured David, hoping Greta was being ironic but realising she probably wasn’t. ‘Oh, by the way, I read in the Telegraph this morning that Marilyn Monroe and Arthur Miller have married. They’re flying over to London, as she’s making a film with Larry Olivier.’
‘Really? They seem an unlikely couple,’ said Greta, as the waiter arrived with their prawns. ‘It seems everyone’s getting married at the moment. Did you watch Grace Kelly marry Prince Rainier on the television earlier this year? Cheska was transfixed.’
During dinner David was so nervous that his normally healthy appetite deserted him and he hardly touched his food, even refusing dessert. Greta ate fresh strawberries as David sipped the remains of the champagne. Ordering coffee and two brandies, he realised that time was running out. It was now or never.
‘Greta, I . . . well, I want to ask you something.’
‘All right. What is it?’ She smiled at him quizzically.
‘The thing is . . .’ Time and again David had rehearsed the next few sentences in his mind, but now he actually needed to say them out loud, he couldn’t remember a single word.
‘Well, the . . . er . . . thing is, that I . . . I love you, Greta. I always have and I always will. There’ll never be anyone else for me. Would you . . . I mean, might you . . . consider marrying me?’
A stunned Greta stared at David, taking in his earnest expression and flushed cheeks. She saw his kind eyes were filled with hope. She swallowed hard and reached for a cigarette. David was her best friend. Yes, she loved him dearly, but not in the way he wanted her to. She’d sworn to herself that she’d never love like that again.
‘The point is, Greta,’ he fumbled on, ‘I think you need someone to take care of you. And Cheska needs a father. Your rightful home is Marchmont and don’t you see that if we married, Marchmont would be ours one day, which would sort of put things right? Of course, we wouldn’t have to live there now. You could move into my house in Hampstead, and . . .’
He paused mid-flow as Greta raised her palm towards him.
‘Stop, David, please stop. Oh, I can hardly bear this!’ She put her head in her hands and began to weep.
‘Greta, please don’t cry. The last thing I want to do is upset you.’
‘David, darling David.’ Greta eventually looked up at him, then used his proffered hanky to dry her eyes. She knew that whatever she said next would hurt him terribly. ‘Let me try and explain. When I met Max all those years ago and he left me pregnant, I was young enough to pick up the pieces – with your help – and start again. Then I came to Marchmont and married Owen, simply because I was alone, frightened and about to become a mother. I needed security and, for a while, Owen gave me that. But it was short-lived and relying on Owen nearly destroyed both Cheska and me. Then we left and returned to London and I fell in love with my employer, who was a married man. Maybe it was the years with Owen that had made me crave a little romance, a little physical satisfaction.’ Greta blushed at her own words. ‘Owen and I never consummated our marriage, you know. Besides, James – that was his name – was talking of leaving his wife for me and, stupidly, I began to believe him. Then his wife found out about the affair and I discovered that he was a weak, selfish man who had never been worth my love in the first place. I lost my job into the bargain. In fact, it was on the very day I met you outside the Windmill again.’
‘I see,’ he said, struggling to digest all that Greta had just imparted.
‘Anyway’ – Greta paused, her brow furrowed in concentration – ‘it was after that awful James business that I made a vow to myself: that I would never allow myself to become close to a man, in the romantic sense at least, again. All they’ve ever done is bring me pain and heartache. I relied on them to give me what I thought I needed. And in the past six years I’ve been happier in some ways than I’ve ever been. My life is Cheska, and there’s no room in my heart for a husband.’
‘I see.’
‘You must know I care for you deeply, David, more than any other person in the world apart from Cheska, but I could never marry you. I’d worry it would all go wrong and besides’ – Greta shook her head – ‘I don’t think I know how to love like that any more. Do you understand?’
‘I understand that you’ve been badly hurt, but I’ve never hurt you. I love you, Greta. You must believe that.’
‘I do, David, really I do. You’ve been wonderful to me. But it would be wrong of me to accept your proposal, because my heart is closed off – numb, I suppose. And I don’t think that will ever change.’
‘You say your life is Cheska. One day, she’ll have her own life, too. What will you do then?’ he asked quietly.
‘Cheska will always need me,’ Greta said firmly. ‘David,’ – her voice softened – ‘I am overwhelmed by your offer. I had no idea you felt like this. And if I were thinking about marriage, you’d be the only man under consideration. But I’m not. And sadly, I never will be.’
David was silent and devastated. There seemed little point in pursuing the subject further. His dreams were shattered and there would be no second chances.
‘I should have married you all those years ago when you were pregnant.’
‘No, you shouldn’t have. Don’t you see, David? We have something far better than marriage. We have friendship. I just hope it won’t disappear after tonight. It won’t, will it?’
He reached for her hand across the table, wishing he were about to place the ring in his pocket on her finger, and smiled a small, sad smile. ‘Of course it won’t, Greta.’
A little later the two of them left the restaurant and walked back to the car in silence.
LJ thought she could hear voices upstairs. She left the library and the Marchmont estate account ledgers and tiptoed upstairs to check Cheska’s room. The bed was empty. She knocked on the bathroom door, pushed it open and saw it was in darkness. Quickening her pace, LJ looked in Greta’s room and the other bedrooms along the corridor until she came to the nursery. The door was closed, but she could hear high-pitched laughter inside. She opened the door slowly.
LJ caught her breath and her hand flew to her mouth.
Cheska was sitting on the floor, her back to the door. She seemed to be talking to someone as she tore the head off an old teddy bear and began to remove the stuffing. She twisted the bear’s arm until it ripped off completely. Then she reached for the head of the bear and began to pull at the two button eyes. One came away in her hand and she poked her finger through the hole the missing button had left and laughed. It was a chilling sound.
LJ stood there watching, horrified by the sight of such violence from a child. Eventually, she stepped into the room and walked quietly across it to stand in front of her. Cheska didn’t seem to notice. Still trying to pull the remaining eye off the teddy’s face, she was now muttering to herself.
LJ saw the child’s glassy eyes. She looked as though she was in some kind of trance. She bent down. ‘Cheska,’ she whispered. ‘Cheska!’
The child jumped then looked up at her, and her eyes cleared. ‘Is it time for bed, Mummy?’ she asked.
‘It’s not Mummy, it’s Aunt LJ. What have you done to that poor teddy bear?’
‘I think I should like to go to bed now. I’m tired, and so is my friend. He’s going to bed, too.’ She dropped what remained of the teddy bear and reached out her arms to LJ, who, with an effort, picked her up. Cheska’s head rested on her shoulder and her eyes closed immediately. LJ carried her along the corridor and put her into bed. The child didn’t stir as she closed the door behind her.
LJ went back to the nursery and, with distaste, gathered up the bits of stuffing and material that had once been a well-loved children’s toy. She carried the remains down to the kitchen and placed them in the bin.
She went to sit in the library, praying that Greta would say yes to her son’s proposal. When David had told her he was finally going to pluck up the courage to ask her, LJ had presented him with the engagement ring Robin had given to her. It was a family heirloom and only right that the next generation of Marchmont men should give it to his intended.
Even if Greta would never be her first choice for David, there was no doubt he loved her and needed a wife. And Cheska needed not only a father, but some kind of normality brought back into her strange, artificial world. And, after what LJ had just witnessed, perhaps some form of psychological help, too.
Later, LJ heard the front door open. David came into the library and she stood up, searching his face anxiously. He smiled at her sadly and gave a slight shrug. She went to her son and put her arms round him.
‘I’m so sorry, dear boy.’
‘Well, at least I asked. It was all I could do.’
‘Where’s Greta?’
‘Gone to bed. She and Cheska are leaving first thing tomorrow.’
‘I wanted to have a word with Greta about something I saw Cheska do while you were out.’
‘If that child did something naughty, then good for her. It’s time she started having a will of her own,’ David countered. ‘Don’t tell Greta, Ma. She won’t believe you anyway, and it’ll only cause tension.’
‘It wasn’t so much naughty as strange. To be honest, I think the child might be a little disturbed.’
‘As you said, Cheska just needs to be allowed to act like a normal little girl sometimes. Most children do odd things occasionally. For my sake, leave it, will you? I want Greta to come back to Marchmont, and criticising her precious daughter will not help that happen.’
‘If you insist,’ sighed LJ.
‘Thank you, Ma.’
‘There are other women in the world, you know.’
‘Maybe. But none like Greta.’ David kissed her gently on her forehead. ‘Goodnight, Ma.’
23
The change in Cheska was so slow and subtle that, as she approached thirteen, Greta was unable to identify exactly when it had begun. Over the two and a half years since Owen’s death, Greta watched her daughter gradually turn from a sunny little girl into a morose, introverted child whose smile was saved only for the camera.
Cheska distanced herself from Greta, no longer responding to cuddles and displaying little affection towards her. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, Greta would hear her talking to herself and moaning. She would creep along the corridor and open her door. Cheska would stir slightly, turn over and become silent. On numerous occasions, Greta would ask her if everything was all right, if there was anything she wanted to talk to Mummy about but Cheska would shake her head and say no, she was fine, it was a friend who was unhappy. Greta would ask who this friend was, and Cheska would shrug and say nothing.
Greta remembered that she, too, had had an imaginary friend when she was younger, to help while away the lonely hours of being an only child. She decided she would just have to wait until Cheska grew out of it. The child was healthy enough: she ate, she slept – but the sparkle had disappeared from her eyes.
No one else seemed to have noticed the change and she was only glad that Cheska’s continual frown and monosyllabic speech disappeared when she arrived on set.
Physically, Cheska was changing, too, and the sight of her burgeoning maturity had set alarm bells ringing in Greta’s head. She began to insist that Cheska wore tight, thick vests that flattened her chest. The odd spot that appeared on her nose or chin was doused in antiseptic and covered with concealer. Chocolate and fatty foods were removed from her diet.
Although Leon had assured Greta that there was no reason why Cheska shouldn’t make the transition from child to adult star, Greta knew the longer Cheska remained capable of playing innocent little girls, the better the public would like it.
To celebrate her daughter’s thirteenth birthday, Greta had decided to hold a party at their house. She invited the cast of Cheska’s latest film, as well as David, Leon and Charles Day, Cheska’s principal director. She hired caterers and the party was to be photographed for Movie Week. A few days before, she had taken Cheska to Harrods to buy a new satin party dress, which Greta had hung in the wardrobe alongside her extensive collection.
On the morning of her birthday, Greta roused Cheska with breakfast in bed.
‘Happy birthday, darling. Here, I’ve brought you orange juice and one of those pastries you like so much – just this once!’
‘Thank you, Mummy,’ said Cheska, sitting up.
‘Are you feeling all right, darling? You look very pale.’
‘I didn’t sleep very well last night, that’s all.’
‘Never mind, this will cheer you up.’ Greta went to the door and reached into the corridor. She returned to the bedside, brandishing a large box covered in wrapping
paper, and placed it in front of her daughter. ‘Go on, open it.’
Cheska tore at the paper and opened the box. Inside was a large doll.
‘Isn’t she beautiful? Do you recognise the face? And the clothes? I had her made especially.’
Cheska nodded without enthusiasm.
‘It’s you, as Melissa in your last film! I gave the artist a photograph of you so he could copy your features onto her face. I think he’s done a wonderful job, don’t you?’
Cheska remained silent as she stared at the doll.
‘You do like it, don’t you?’
‘Yes, Mummy. Thank you very much,’ she replied mechanically.
‘Now, eat your breakfast. I’ve got to pop out to collect a little something special for the party this afternoon. I won’t be long. Why don’t you have a bath when you’ve finished breakfast?’
Cheska nodded. When she heard the front door close, she threw the doll to the floor, buried her face in her pillow and wept.
She’d wanted a radio so much and, despite weeks of hinting, her mother had given her a stupid doll instead, a present for a baby. And she wasn’t a baby any longer, but her mother just didn’t seem to understand.
Cheska sat up and eyed the satin dress hanging on her wardrobe door.
It was a beautiful dress – for a baby.
The voice she’d first heard at Marchmont began to whisper in her head again.
Greta collected the birthday cake from Fortnum & Mason and carried it carefully to the waiting taxi. On the short drive home she went through a mental list of everything she had to do before the guests began arriving at four o’clock.
She unlocked the front door to the apartment, went hurriedly into the kitchen and slid the birthday cake inside a cupboard, out of sight.
‘Darling! I’m home!’
There was no reply. Greta knocked on the bathroom door. It was something Cheska had started to insist on. There was nothing she hated more than Greta barging in on her naked.
The Angel Tree Page 20
