by Liz Fenwick
At Tamsin’s house Gabe was bustled into the kitchen and despite the heat from the Aga she found it cold. She pulled Fin’s coat tighter around her, then threw it off. The only way the journalists could have known would be through him. He had betrayed her, betrayed Jaunty.
‘Brandy, I think.’ Tamsin disappeared and Gabe saw the kitchen table covered with all the papers. It was only in one but it was on the front page. The story followed the lines of ‘privileged woman steals East End girl’s glory’.
Gabe sank into a chair. That wasn’t what happened! How could Fin have done this? Was he that desperate for money?
‘Now, just heard from Anthony and they’re all on their way back here.’ Tamsin sat down and pushed a glass towards Gabe. ‘Mrs Bates is in floods of tears. She fears it’s all her fault for wanting her Timothy to cover the funeral for the paper.’ Tamsin shook her head. ‘Somehow I don’t see Tim as being the cause, but I could be wrong.’
Gabe shook her head. ‘I should have done something.’
‘You knew?’
‘Only just.’ Gabe took a sip of the brandy. ‘Jaunty wrote a confession of sorts for me.’
‘Ah.’
‘And well, I was still trying to figure out what to do.’ A tear slipped down Gabe’s cheek. ‘It all spiralled ahead, beginning with the obituaries hitting the papers when I hadn’t even called them.’
‘Well, you know how news spreads here. It could have reached them in any number of ways and once they heard it would be easy enough to confirm.’ Tamsin made herself a cup of tea. ‘In fact, thinking about it, I saw something on Facebook. Nothing bad, just someone noting how sad they were that she had died.’
Gabe nodded.
‘She was so good, frankly, I don’t see what all the fuss is about. There can’t be any other news at the moment. It would be jolly convenient if some minister was caught shagging someone. Not to worry, Gabe, we’ll get it sorted. Now finish that drink and get some colour back into your cheeks.’
Gabe wore a big woolly jumper of Tamsin’s and was surrounded by what felt like half the village. Tamsin’s son Fred had been sent to check the cabin and make sure that it and the studio were secure. He found a stranger with several cameras loitering on the track to the cabin. He’d asked if he was lost and told him that he’d get some great wildlife shots but not much else.
Everyone moved around and discussed how to handle the crisis. Fin stood on the outskirts. He wasn’t speaking, just listening, as she was. People Gabe had known but not known well all her life were closing round her to protect her. She was theirs and so was Jaunty.
‘It’s clear we have to get the full and correct story out.’ Tristan spoke. ‘I’m afraid it will have to be Gabe presenting it.’ He looked at her and Gabe didn’t know what to do.
‘I could do it.’ Fin stepped forward. ‘I’m an art historian. If I speak then they will listen.’
‘They will still want to hear Gabe’s thoughts. Like, did she know and everything.’ Tamsin rubbed Gabe’s shoulders. Gabe was shaking. How could Fin stand there as if he was innocent? The world would still be in ignorance if he had kept his mouth shut. But he hadn’t.
‘Hey, they have linked to a video of Gabe singing!’ Anthony looked up from the computer screen and everyone except Gabe and Fin huddled around Anthony, watching. Gabe froze. Without looking at the screen she recognised it. It was the final performance of the competition.
As the last note faded Gabe’s glance met Fin’s. She knew and he knew.
‘Wow, we knew you could sing, Gabe, but that was fabulous.’ Anthony’s voice came from the centre of the group.
Gabe grabbed the back of the chair in front of her. She couldn’t breathe. The room started disappearing and then . . . nothing.
Air blew across Gabe’s face and she heard voices around her, but opening her eyes was a problem. Maybe if she didn’t the world would go away. She should have let herself drown the night she rescued Fin. His life jacket would have saved him without her help. This was his fault.
Save a stranger from the sea, and he’ll turn your enemy.
‘Gabe!’ Hannah’s voice called. It sounded as if it came from across the room, but Gabe knew someone was holding her hand, and it wasn’t Fin. Her pulse wasn’t racing and she knew that her body would respond to his traitor’s touch. The noise of the voices all talking at once almost drowned out the quiet singing that Hannah began. She sang the hymn that Gabe had sung the night she saved Fin.
Refuge in grief, Star of the sea,
Pray for the mourner, pray for me.
Hannah’s voice was so sincere that Gabe opened her eyes.
‘You’re with us again.’ Hannah smiled.
‘I think Gabe needs to rest.’ Tamsin came over and took Gabe’s hand. ‘You’ll stay here tonight so we can look after you.’
There was no option, Gabe could tell, and before she knew it she was tucked in Tamsin’s guest room.
‘Take these sleeping pills. You get a good night’s rest and everything will look better in the morning.’
Gabe swallowed them but didn’t see how things would improve with her grandmother’s deception splashed across the papers.
Gabe clawed her way out of a terrible dream. Forcing her eyes open, she didn’t know where she was. Weight pressed down on her chest, and gasping for air she tried to scream but no sound came out. Her limbs were heavy and she felt drugged – and that’s when she remembered where she was and what had happened. Sleeping tablets.
The sun was high in the sky; she must have slept for more than twelve hours. There was a tap on the door and Tamsin popped her head round it. ‘Hi.’ She brought in a tray with tea and toast and Gabe struggled to push up into a sitting position. Nothing was working properly and her mouth was painfully dry.
‘You’ve been asleep for ever. You must have needed it.’
Gabe nodded, not trusting her voice. Tamsin handed her a mug of tea.
‘Things are much better now, much calmer,’ Tamsin said, walking to the door. ‘I’ll leave you to drink your tea and eat in peace. I got Fred to bring some of your clothes from the cabin.’ Tamsin frowned. ‘Not what you or I would have chosen to go together but they’ll have to do. I put them in the bathroom on the towel rail.’
‘Thanks,’ Gabe croaked.
‘No problem. Come down when you’re ready.’
Gabe sipped her tea, thinking that might mean never leaving the safety of this pretty room.
Fin was the first person Gabe saw as she walked into Tamsin’s kitchen. She stopped. Didn’t these kind people know that he was the cause of the problem?
‘Good afternoon,’ Anthony greeted her from where he stood by the window.
‘Yes, you could say I overslept.’
‘Not to worry about it.’ Tamsin pulled a cake out of the Aga and the aroma of warm chocolate and almonds filled the air.
‘All’s cool here at crisis central.’ Fred looked up from the computer on the table. ‘While you were sleeping Fin’s handled the press and has so far, by my count, given ten interviews to the media. He’s a real pro.’
‘Oh my God.’ Gabe clutched the doorframe. She should have been up hours ago. She couldn’t believe they’d let Fin speak for her or for Jaunty. She wasn’t sure it could get any worse.
‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’ Anthony handed her a cup of coffee. ‘Do you need some fresh air?’
Gabe nodded and stumbled out the back door. This wasn’t happening to her. If she had put her foot down and sent Fin on his way immediately none of this would have happened. Why hadn’t she questioned his reasons for being here? Alarm bells should have rung loud and clear when he said he was an art historian. She was such a fool. She hadn’t followed her instincts until they had been blinded by his charm, and by then her hormones had kicked into overdrive. She had slept with him, not once, but countless ti
mes. She flushed and walked further into the garden towards a summerhouse where she stood and let the tears run down her cheeks. She would allow herself these few moments of self-pity and then she had to find Jaunty’s determination and take control of the situation. She blew her nose.
‘Gabe.’ Fin was beside her.
‘You!’ She stepped away.
‘I know you hate me, but believe me, I’m on your side.’
‘You’re joking, right?’
‘No.’ He walked closer and Gabe couldn’t back away any further.
‘Look, I know you won’t believe me but I wanted to make sure you, and only you, saw this.’ He handed her a folded sheet of paper.
‘What’s this? Your apology for ruining Jaunty’s reputation.’ He didn’t say anything and Gabe opened it. Jaunty’s handwriting looked so shaky.
My dearest girl. As always I have left the hardest bit to the very last. This is the part that has tormented me the most. Even now, having made my confession, this is the one thing I cannot forgive myself for. That in itself is a sin. Pride. I always had far too much of that.
But I delay.
On the night that Alex and I fled France I was to meet Dietrich. I had told Alex this but he said there was no time and I was buoyant as we left the priest. I was finally married to my love. We went through the wood to the meeting point. Alex told me to wait while he went and sent the signals. I stood shivering by a tree, planning for our future.
Dietrich must have been worried when I hadn’t turned up at our appointed time because he came looking for me and found me alone. His face was full of relief and love. But, of course, within moments, he wanted to know why I was hiding in the woods near a dirt track.
We argued and eventually the truth came out of me. He begged me not to go and I refused. I knew, above all, he mustn’t see Alex. Alex couldn’t be compromised. I began to run away from the road and Dietrich followed, declaring his love. He wouldn’t listen and I heard Alex’s signal in the distance. Then I saw Alex’s light. He was searching for me. He must have heard the arguing.
I pulled out the small pistol Alex had given me earlier and I threatened Dietrich, but he wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t leave. Alex came up to us and it was too late. Dietrich should have gone when I asked. It all would have worked out. Alex stood there. He was compromised, the whole operation was. I had to choose, Alex and my country or Dietrich my friend and lover.
I shot Dietrich as he was saying, yet again, that he loved me more than life. He fell to the ground. Alex took my hand, then I ran, looking back only once. Dietrich hadn’t moved. I’d killed him.
Gabe’s hand shook. Jaunty’s writing was almost illegible and the m on the end slid off the page. ‘Where did you find this?’
‘When I checked the cabin I found a window open in Jaunty’s room. The wind had caused an unholy mess and as I picked up the last papers I saw this one poking out from under the side of the bed.’
‘Have you read it?’
He nodded.
‘Have you told anyone?’ Gabe looked at him, hating that part of her wanted to be in his arms.
‘No, nor would I.’
‘I’m afraid I find that hard to believe.’ Gabe took a deep breath.
‘Gabe!’ Tamsin called from the kitchen.
‘Gabe, wait.’ The look in Fin’s eyes pleaded with her.
She turned away from him. Gabe folded the letter and put it in to her pocket. ‘Coming.’ She didn’t know what to think or feel at this moment, but she knew the last thing she wanted to do was talk to Fin. These good people had no idea what they had done by relying on him. Unfortunately Gabe knew all too well.
The newspapers were spread out over the table. Being the weekend all of them had found space to run the story in more detail. They had unearthed photos of Jaunty as a child with her parents and Gabe was thrilled to see them, but at the same time she was horrified that the world was viewing them at the same time as she did. Jaunty wouldn’t have wanted this.
Among the pictures were statements saying that Gabriella, Jeanette’s granddaughter, was unable to comment at this time, that this was all news to her. She hadn’t known about her grandmother’s other life, that she hadn’t withheld anything, but was in the process of investigating the story. It mentioned that she was in mourning and wished her privacy to be respected. But of course it wasn’t. The papers had left no stone unturned from Gabe’s past and it appeared that many of her old colleagues were happy to chime in, probably for the namecheck that they would receive.
She put her head in her hands. How was she going to fix this? Was there even a way she could? Every one of the articles had taken against Jaunty. None of them looked at what her situation had been or what she had done in the war. Gabe wondered if her service had ever been noted or would it be under Jean’s name? But of course it hadn’t been Jean. She had been on the Lancastria.
There were inset articles giving the terrible statistics and background on the tragedy of the ship, even a picture of the ship’s manifest listing Jeanette Penrose. It made for depressing reading. One of the papers harped on about her privileged upbringing and showed photos of Polruan House and the Lake Garda villa where they had summered. It was all wrong.
‘We’re so sorry about all of this.’ Tamsin sat next to her and put her hand on her shoulder.
‘You’ve been so kind.’
‘Nonsense. It’s the only way that humans should behave. Now, I think that it is far too late for us to do anything today and that Gabe should stay here again tonight, and we shouldn’t talk about any of this until tomorrow morning when we are all rested and can make sensible plans.’
She looked round the room and every head nodded in agreement.
Anthony walked through the door with the Sunday papers, and Gabe wasn’t sure if she could bear to read any more. She was drained by Jaunty’s final revelation, and if she thought about it too much it would finish off what sanity she still had left.
‘That’s better.’ Anthony handed her the paper he’d taken to read. It was open at a page with an article written by an Alexander Falk, an art historian, said the byline. In it he took Jaunty’s side and explained how Jeanette had become Jean and the assumptions people had made. It was all very calm and reasoned. The next article was by Sam Marks, a well-known art critic. Gabe put the paper down. Wasn’t that the name of the man she’d met with Fin?
Gabe scanned it and saw that he argued that it didn’t matter that one artist had painted one set of work and the other painted another. Both were war artists. Both had studied with the same painter, Pierre François. Jeanette’s unique vision had developed in a manner that was equal to the works of Jean, and the weaving of their stories made it all the more intriguing, as had Jeanette’s divergence from her initial strengths as a portrait painter. There was a photograph of one of Jaunty’s paintings that she had hidden, a portrait of Gabe’s father. He then went on to contrast the styles, highlighting how the need to be unidentifiable had pushed Jeanette’s art to greater heights. Her portraiture, from what he had seen, was excellent, but not to the level of her near abstract seascapes.
Gabe knew she had Fin to thank, if that was the right word for this. He must have photographed the portrait and given it to Sam. But where was Fin now? He certainly wasn’t in Tamsin’s house.
‘Where’s Fin?’
‘Ah, he’s a star. He’s our man in London and he’s doing a stellar job.’ Tamsin smiled and handed Gabe a biscuit. As Gabe bit into the still warm ginger snap she wasn’t so sure about that.
Twenty-One
It was two more days later before they allowed Gabe to go home. In that time the press had begun to turn around. More articles appeared in the form of editorials with large quotes from Alexander Falk. She had heard nothing from Fin, but he was obviously liaising with the little committee that had formed to look after her and Jaunty’s name. Gabe
was so touched by their support.
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?’ Tamsin put her hand on Gabe’s.
‘I’m fine. This is my home.’
‘Well, Anthony tells me that all is OK there.’
‘Thanks.’ Gabe took a breath. ‘Thanks for everything.’
‘Ah, it was nothing. It’s not right what they’ve done, but we’ll see it’s sorted.’
‘I don’t know what to say. You don’t have to do this.’
‘Ah, but we do. Jaunty was our reclusive artist – she came here to be safe.’
Gabe nodded. That was true.
‘Well, thank you again.’ Gabe stepped out of Tamsin’s car and took a deep breath. Eucalyptus and pine. She turned and waved at Tamsin, then walked down the path to the steps. On the top one she stopped to look at the view. In front of her the pines were still half covered in a morning mist and the river was only just visible. Slowly she walked down the steps. A spider had spun a web across the terrace like yellow crime-scene tape. Drops of dew shimmered in the breeze, reflecting the golden morning light.
No crime had taken place here. Only a life lived as best as it could be. Gabe swallowed and unlocked the kitchen door. There would be no Jaunty and no Fin. From here on she was truly alone, which is exactly what she had hoped for a few weeks ago. But now everything had changed, especially her.
Her phone beeped. She had a voice message. Dropping her bag on the bench, she walked down the stone steps to the creek. She watched an egret fly across the water and land on a bare branch on the opposite shore.
‘Hi, Gabe. I know you don’t want to speak to me, but I need to talk to you about so much and I’ve had a request from Spotlight on Art to be interviewed about Jaunty. What do you want me to do? Please call.’
