by Georgia Hill
She made coffee and they settled in the sitting room.
Neil looked around him admiringly. ‘I have to say, you’ve made a big difference to this room.’
‘Just as well, seeing as the rest of the house is still a tip.’ Rachel grinned ruefully.
‘One thing I’ve learned about builders is that it always takes twice as long for them to get anything done. Mike’s busy over at the Hallidays, isn’t he?’
Rachel looked at Neil startled.
He laughed. ‘Another thing about living in a small community is that everyone knows what everyone else is doing! I sold the Hallidays the house some years ago. I like to keep in touch. They’re extending the original two-up-two-down thatched cottage. It’s a big job. I’m not surprised Mike is falling behind on this one.’
‘I’m really pleased with what they’ve done, actually. Gabe’s doing a good job,’ Rachel said, wanting to defend them.
‘Ah Gabe! His heart’s not in it, though, is it? He’d rather be off playing the tortured artist in a garret.’
Rachel wasn’t comfortable discussing the Llewellyn family with Neil. It smacked of gossiping. What’s more, she didn’t like the way in which he was belittling Gabe. ‘More coffee, Neil?’ she asked, brightly, in an effort to change the subject.
‘Well, I wouldn’t normally. Too much caffeine in the system plays havoc, but seeing as this is so delicious, I will have another cup. I heard a grinder. Don’t tell me that you made it fresh?’ He held his cup out for a refill.
‘I did.’
‘Wherever did you get the beans?’
‘I picked them up on my last trip to London. I still have to go back every now and again to see my agent. You’re right, though, they’re hard to track down around here.’
Neil leaned back on the sofa and looked up at Rachel with a frank appreciation. ‘I do so admire you, Rachel. You seem to have everything sorted.’ He gestured to the room. ‘You’re getting the house fixed up, you have your work and you still have that connection with the more exciting places in the world. So in control, so sorted. You know what you want from life.’
Rachel didn’t know how to respond. Was that how she was seen? Tim’s comment about her becoming far too anal and in danger of ending up alone, with just a cat for company, ghosted into her mind. How could people not see beyond the exterior and into the morass of insecurity and panic that normally existed in her head? Why did no one understand what she was really like?
‘I well…’
‘I’m so sorry, Rachel. I’ve embarrassed you.’ Neil gave her a dazzling smile. ‘Forgive me.’ Draining his espresso he glanced at his watch, his brows shooting up. ‘Time for me to go.’
‘Well, thank you again for a lovely evening,’ Rachel said, itching for him to be gone.
As she showed him out, he paused. ‘Let’s do this again, shall we? And maybe next time I can have a look in that biscuit tin.’
Rachel smiled and closed the door. Leaning against it, she grimaced. He was getting a bit keen.
A whirl of displeasure scuttered around the hall. ‘And you don’t seem to approve either, Hetty. Not the right one for me?’
Rachel felt Hetty give a soft laugh.
As she was clearing away the coffee things there was a knock on the door. Irritated, she wondered if it was Neil returning. It wasn’t. It was Gabe.
‘Was that Neil Fitch’s car I saw in the lane?’
She was too taken aback by his suspicious tone to not answer honestly. ‘Yes, we’ve just been out to dinner.’
‘Very nice.’
‘It was, actually.’
He looked down at the cafetière in her hand. ‘And came back for coffee?’
‘Yes, Gabe. He came back for coffee.’ She frowned up at him and added emphatically, ‘just coffee.’ Arching an eyebrow, she didn’t bother to hide her sarcasm. ‘That alright with you?’
Sensing her irritation, Gabe ran an embarrassed hand over his face. ‘Sorry. Bad mood. It’s been one of those days.’
Exhaustion was etched into his face and it made him look older. Softening, she let him in. ‘What did you come up this late for?’
‘Left a drill here. Dad needs it first thing in the morning at the Hallidays’. I’ve only just got back in. He gave me a bit of grief over it.’ He followed her into the kitchen.
Rachel switched the kettle back on and made him some tea. Holding it out to him, she noticed he hadn’t said where he’d been. It couldn’t have been a job as he was dressed in dark jeans and a rugby shirt. He looked disturbingly sexy. ‘Come on through to the sitting room, you won’t get dust on your nice clothes in there.’
‘Thanks, Rach.’
Gabe collapsed onto the sofa, closed his eyes and let out an enormous sigh. ‘It’s so good to stop.’
Rachel took the biscuit tin down and joined him. As Gabe stretched out his long legs and concentrated on drinking his tea, Rachel idly leafed through the diary. It was peaceful and, with a curl of her lip, she noticed that even Hetty was quiet. Maybe the old woman approved of Gabe more!
After a while, Gabe picked up the journal Rachel had put to one side. He looked through it with interest. ‘It’s fascinating, isn’t it?’ he said, eventually. ‘The early stuff about her life at Delamere. What a childhood, having a rambling, run-down house as a playground! There’s plenty of material here for your book. Are you still going to do it?’
Rachel nodded, slowly. ‘I think so. It’s getting very sad, though. I’ve just found out she married Edward Trenchard-Lewis and he was killed not long after, in the war. The Great War, that is.’ It sounded very bald saying it like that.
Gabe looked up, tiredness shadowing his eyes. ‘That’s awful. Just as her life was starting too.’ He blew out a breath. ‘A whole generation of men wiped out. And a whole generation of widows created. Awful.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘Suppose I would have gone. I’m the right age.’ He stared into the fireplace, looking so sad that Rachel wanted to reach out and hug him to her. It wasn’t just Hetty’s tragic wartime story making him so troubled. She wondered what was on his mind.
He blinked several times and came back to her. Flipping through to the back cover of the leather-bound journal, he exclaimed. ‘What’s this? There’s something here, Rachel, there’s something underneath the lining.’
Gabe handed the book over to Rachel and she slid her slimmer finger into the camouflaged slit nestling under the hardback cover. She tugged out some sheets of paper, so thin they were almost transparent. Holding her breath, she unfolded them and scanned the first few lines.
‘Anything interesting? Must be secrets, hidden like that.’
‘Um, maybe,’ Rachel said, her eyes still glued to what she held in a slightly shaking hand.
There was a silence as she began reading avidly.
Gabe yawned, hugely. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Better be off, I suppose.’
Rachel looked at him, saw the sadness and exhaustion hollowing his face. She put a hand on his arm. ‘Don’t go. Stay a while longer. If you don’t mind me reading this?’ She held up the fragile pieces of paper. ‘I’d like the company, to be honest.’
Gabe gave a tired smile. ‘Nowhere else I’d rather be,’ he said, softly. Settling back on the sofa, he watched her begin to read the sheets of paper, made soft by age, drooping in her hands.
Chapter 20
June 1963, Clematis Cottage
Hetty sat at the desk in the window and tapped her pen with nervous fingers. When she’d read her diary entry describing the hunt ball she’d laughed a little. She wanted to do more justice to it. To tell the truth. How innocent those days seemed. Full of pretty dresses and show tunes. None of them had any idea of the apocalypse that was to come.
She smoothed out the papers of her old diary. She knew the contents by heart, but the dull text did not mention the breathless thrill of that kiss…that first kiss. She began to write.
The year 1909 had been horribly blighted by news of Father’s death in Africa.
Having succumbed to one malarial fit too many, he had been buried where he fell sick, in French Guinea. I did know how to feel for a father I hardly knew and yet who had been my last remaining close relative. I had no idea how to grieve without the evidence of a grave. I had no body to weep over. And yet, I was expected to mourn.
That Christmas had been a subdued affair with a small chicken instead of a goose and the only celebration a toast to the King. However, the aunts had finally allowed the putting off of black crepe and announced that I was to be allowed to attend the hunt ball.
My first proper dance!
And not only was I to be allowed to dance, but I was to have a new dress, a party frock. I hadn’t had new clothes since I stopped growing at fifteen. I was now, as Leonora was forever pointing out, rather tall. My family legacy, I supposed. I did not remember dear Papa being overly tall, although that may have been in contrast with my two cousins who, sharing the Trenchard blood, as did I, were uncommonly tall also.
Richard was now sixteen and a strapping youth with a bony frame that promised still further height and strength. He ate us out of house and home when back from school, which this year had been rare. At his pleading, Cook fed him in the kitchen in between meals as he was permanently hungry. Hester made soft, fond comments about Edward being just the same at that age. I hadn’t seen much of Edward either as, since leaving university, he had been staying with various friends. He and Richard had spent some time with the Parker family at their London house. I had been madly jealous at being left out. I never seemed to go anywhere remotely exciting.
The aunts tried to hide it, but their relief at not having the expense of feeding two ragingly hungry males was palpable.
Edward and Richard had travelled back, with the Parkers, to attend the dance. Flora was now out and rumour had it she had ignited much excitement in society. Aunt Leonora commented that the excitement would soon die down, once she was exposed as the daughter of new money. For once, I agreed with my caustic relative.
But – back to my dress! As a special treat, Aunt Hester had hired a dressmaker from Worcester, the material having been found in an old packing case in one of the Delamere attics. It was beautiful – a pale grey, as befitting my state of half mourning, but with a silver thread running through. I had had only one fitting and was desperate to try on the finished gown.
It arrived two days before the ball and Aunt Hester ran upstairs with the package herself. She took me to her dressing room, it having the only long mirror not spotted with a patina and therefore the only one worth using. She was as excited as I when we fumbled, like giggling schoolgirls, with the brown paper. When she eventually fastened the neat row of buttons at the back and turned me to face the mirror, I gasped. It was utterly beautiful. The colour removed any redness from my complexion and complimented my brown hair. She held my hair up so I could see the effect once it was dressed.
I was silent for a moment and then I said, ‘Oh, Aunt, I look quite grown up.’
‘Of course you do, my dear. You are grown up now. Seventeen.’
‘Nearly eighteen. My birthday is later this month.’
‘Of course, nearly eighteen. I forget how you are all growing up.’ She sighed. ‘You truly look like a young woman.’ The inference was clear, so I turned and gave her a hug.
‘Aunt,’ I began, ‘Why have you always stayed at Delamere? Why did you never marry?’ I felt her body still against mine.
The candle flickered in the January gloom and smoked. It cast shadows on the dressing-room walls and hid the shabby wallpaper. Hester remained silent. I had overstepped a boundary, but I did not know how.
Aunt Hester turned me back to the mirror and spoke to my reflection, over my shoulder. ‘Hetty,’ she reproved, but only lightly. ‘You are forever the one asking questions.’
Our eyes met in the mirror. I had not realised how similar we were. Both tall, both with chestnut-lit hair. Hester was the more beautiful, though, with narrower features and those strange, lilac-coloured eyes.
‘I was to be married, Hetty. At one time. I lost my betrothed in the War.’
I frowned. ‘The Boer Wars?’
‘Indeed.’ Hester gave my arms a squeeze, tears gathering in her eyes. ‘Be happy, child. Be happy.’
And then she was gone. Slipping into the shadows like a wraith.
I would glean no more information from Hester, I knew my aunt too well to hope for more, but I couldn’t help but sigh for her lost opportunities. Poor Hester, having to sacrifice her youth and beauty to Delamere and, worse still, to Leonora. It was a wonder she remained so kind and sweet. My love for her deepened.
Then, with the self-absorption of youth, I stared at my reflection again and wondered what everyone would think when they saw me. I would have no formal coming out, the family simply could not afford it and I had not yet come into my money. This would be my one chance to take my place in the world. Hence the aunts’ agreement about my early leave from deep mourning. The hunt ball would be their opportunity to declare me an adult and therefore marriage material in the eyes of our small and provincial society. Aunt Hester’s revelation had shocked me. I had never before given any thought to her as a person. She had been my darling aunt, whom I had loved from the first. I knew what she wanted from me. How I could make her happy. I had to secure Edward and it was not an entirely unpleasant thought. Edward was kind, clever, thoughtful. Good husband material.
And I owed Hester her happiness.
I wondered how Edward would react when he saw me in my new dress. I was usually dressed in a dull pinafore and blouse. This dress was heavenly; the most glamorous thing I had ever owned. The sleeves were elbow-length and I was to borrow some long gloves from Aunt Hester. There was a deep v-neck at the front, but my neckline was discreetly covered with a placket of fine silver gauzy stuff. As dictated by the new fashion, the waist was high and the skirt narrow. It was the most perfect, most gorgeous, thing I had ever worn.
I attempted a few coquettish poses in the mirror and giggled. I could not wait for the dance – and for everyone to see me.
The evening of the ball was one of those perfect winter nights, silver with hoar frost and shivery with expectation. I stood on the front step, waiting for Sam to bring round the old dog cart. Richard had ridden on ahead and Edward was to drive me to the Parkers’. They were hosting the evening at Breckington. Mr Parker was attempting to secure his family’s position as the most eminent in the county. In my head, I could hear Leonora’s sniffing out the words, ‘There’s no substitute for class, not even money made from indigo dye can buy one that,’ and giggled a little.
I knew Edward had already arrived at Delamere as I’d heard the aunts exclaiming over him earlier in the day, but I’d kept myself from him. I wanted to astound everyone with my grown-up glamour and wanted Edward to have his first sighting of me in my new gown. I had timed my arrival downstairs with care. I turned as I heard a commotion.
‘Edward, my boy, how splendid you look in white tie!’
It was Aunt Hester clucking. The aunts were standing with him at the foot of the staircase. Edward, tall and straight-backed, was indulgently waiting while Hester brushed a non-existent piece of fluff off his shoulder. He had grown a moustache and it made him look older, far older than his twenty-three years but, perhaps, that was what two years in a life away from Delamere did to one.
I had overheard the aunts talk of him joining the army. It would be the sensible thing to do as Delamere could not hope to support him, even with the addition of my inheritance.
Money, it always came back to money! I wished there were a way I could keep him at home, where I suspected he longed to be. Still, he might be the sort to enjoy army life and it would afford the opportunity for him to travel. A thought occurred, how should I like being an army wife? Excitement rising, I realised I would travel! See more of the world than this little corner of a rural, and very dull, county.
‘Hetty!’
Edward saw me and came towards me, h
is hands outstretched. He took mine in a friendly gesture. ‘Come into the light, dear girl, you’ll freeze out there. Let me look at you.’
He pulled me closer and then stopped. ‘Oh I say, Hetty, that’s the most marvellous dress.’ He dropped my hands abruptly. ‘Hetty, you’ll be the belle of the ball.’
We stared into one another’s eyes, newly aware. No longer children. All I could hear was the gas light in the hall, hissing against the dark of the night. It gave off a strong smell of paraffin, which singed the inside of my nose. My eyes watered, but I tried not to sniff, striving for an adult composure.
I studied him with interest, gratified to have made such an impact. He hadn’t changed a great deal, apart from the moustache. His hair seemed darker, but that could be the brilliantine slicking it down, and he was much broader and muscular than I remembered. He seemed completely foreign to me. Very much a man now and the knowledge gave me a little shiver.
‘I say, you are cold, old thing. Come on, let’s get you wrapped up warm and to the Parkers’.’ Hester passed Edward my cape and he put it around my shoulders. It was old and spoiled the effect of my party dress, but was welcome in its warmth. His hands skimmed my arms, bare above their gloves, and I shivered again.
Once at Breckington Hall, we abandoned the dog cart to one of the Parkers’ stable boys and followed the maid to the sounds of laughter coming from their drawing room. Nanny Walker, my chaperone for the journey, disappeared to the kitchens.
I looked about me in awe. The newly done drawing room was decorated in the latest creams and whites, with a grand piano in one corner and luxurious yellow drapes closed against the cold. It was crowded with people. For a second, I couldn’t fathom why it dazzled my eyes so, then realised; the Parkers had gone ahead and put in electric light. I remembered Flora telling Richard about it – and the new generator was installed in a purpose-built outhouse. The room shone as bright as the new money that had made it happen. It was all so terribly exciting. Leonora’s voice sounded in my head again and my lip curled. Although, looking around the room, society didn’t seem to care that it was all provided by ‘ew money’!
