‘You stupid man. You stupid, stupid man.’ Madge was breathing heavily, almost hyperventilating. He’d been there; James had been at Holly Close Farm. He’d seen her. ‘Your little girl,’ she snarled, pushing James away. ‘Nancy is your little girl.’
Their breathing as they faced each other was the only sound in the room. A clock somewhere struck the hour. And then, James finally said, ‘She’s mine? I have a daughter?’ He sat down heavily on the rather elegant chaise longue behind him and stared at Madge. ‘And you didn’t tell me? You kept her from me?’
‘I thought you were DEAD. How many more times?’
‘But why marry Arthur? Why didn’t you go to my mother? She’d have helped you, let you stay with them.’
‘Oh, don’t be so ridiculous, James. After the number of snide remarks I got from your father about carrying on seeing you?’
‘You never said.’ James was angry, his face flushed.
Madge shrugged. ‘I didn’t want to come between you and your father. Fran, too. She was constantly telling me it couldn’t work out between us. Can you imagine if I’d turned up, pregnant, on the doorstep of that great estate of yours?’
‘My mother would have taken you in.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, James. It wasn’t some Victorian melodrama. I was pregnant, you were dead. I feared my mother, being the big churchgoer that she was, wouldn’t have given me the time of day. Arthur asked me to marry him and I didn’t know what else to do. I was in shock. I was wrong, I know that now. Of course my mother wouldn’t have thrown me out. Dad wouldn’t have let her. I made a mistake.’
‘As did I.’ James looked at Madge, his eyes never once leaving hers.
‘Well, getting shot down and ending up half-dead can hardly be classed a mistake.’ Madge attempted a smile.
‘Madge, I’m married.’
‘Married?’ Madge didn’t think her heart could stand any more shock but she simply said, ‘Why would you not be?’ Even as she said the words, the pain of knowing he loved and had married someone else was intolerable. How was she going to bear this? She’d been given James back for the evening and he wasn’t hers to keep. She was married to Arthur. James had married someone else. A blackness so intense she felt she could touch it descended on her. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply for a couple of seconds and then, opening them, tried to smile. She reached for her things. ‘I need to go, James. I shouldn’t have come back here with you. I can find a hotel for the night near the station and catch the early train back in the morning.’
‘Madge, I’m not letting you go again.’ James grabbed her hand, refusing to relinquish it until she sat back down beside him once more. ‘I don’t love Constance.’
‘Constance? You married Constance?’ A little laugh, dry and bitter, bubbled out of her before she could prevent it ‘But, of course you did,’ she said, looking down at her hands, at the pink nails she’d acquired for her trip south. ‘Of course you did.’
‘Oh, sweet Jesus, I can’t lose you again, Madge.’ James closed his eyes momentarily and then reached almost blindly for her, his mouth finding hers, kissing her in the way he’d always kissed her. It was like he’d never been away: his scent, his touch, everything was just the same. He took her hand, leading her through to the bedroom and she went, simply unable not to. He turned and, just the once, asked her if she was sure. She nodded, aware that every part of her was aching for him. She stepped out of her heels and James took her foot, moving his hand upwards along the sheer silk of her stocking to the soft skin beyond until she thought she might go quite insane with desire. Madge reached for him and James suddenly hesitated. ‘Madge, I’m not a pretty sight any more. It takes quite a bit of getting used to.’ He was terribly embarrassed about his leg but Madge sat up, determined not to avert her eyes, helping him with the strap that secured the prosthetic above his knee. She smiled and turned her back to him, indicating that he unfasten the zip of her dress. He did so, slowly and softly moving his mouth over every bump of her uncovered backbone until she slipped out of the Dior, slipped off the bed and onto the floor and softly kissed his stump. This was James, this was his skin, and there was absolutely nothing repellent about the limb that was left in place where once his whole leg had been.
29
‘So how come you live in London and yet you’re always popping up out of nowhere round here?’ I clasped my frozen hands round the hot glass of mulled wine – the Jolly Sailor had obviously had a whole load of red wine left over from Christmas and had decided, this first week in January, to go with a winter ski theme, adding cinnamon, orange juice and hot water before flogging it as Glühwein and I was appreciating both the warmth and alcohol as it began its trip around my bloodstream.
‘A long story.’ Corey frowned, wincing at the sweetness of the drink, and stood up. ‘I think I’ll have a whisky instead.’
‘We’ve got all evening,’ I said, trying to get comfortable on the high stool. The pub, post-Christmas, was virtually deserted despite, or possibly because of, the management’s attempts at bringing Val d’Isère to Westenbury. I headed a cardboard polar bear out of the way and studied Corey as he went back to the bar. He was tall – well over six foot – with longish, untidy dark-blond hair and eyes of molten chocolate; really quite different from Dominic’s dark hair and green eyes, I mused, and then castigated myself for sizing Corey up as potential boyfriend material. We were here simply to amalgamate what we knew about the James and Madge story. Totally irrelevant that he was pretty damned gorgeous. But totally relevant that he wore a wedding ring: never, ever again would I look at a married man.
I’d rung the hospital just before leaving the house to meet Corey, and Madge was comfortable, spending most of the time sleeping. I didn’t know if this was a good sign that she’d recover or not. I’d need to Google it once I got home.
‘That’s better.’ Corey took a long drink of his whisky, headed the polar bear back in my direction and then folded his arms. ‘Right, so I’ll tell you what I know and then it’s your turn.’
‘Just tell me what you’re doing here – you know, let’s get the present sorted first…’
‘You’re expecting a present?’ Corey smiled.
‘… before we delve back into the past.’ I tutted. ‘I think you’re trying to avoid the issue.’ I folded my own arms. ‘I think I understand why you keep visiting Holly Close Farm, but how come you’re here now, staying at this dive, and why were you on the road through Westenbury on Christmas Eve?’
‘OK. So, I met my wife, Rowena, at Leeds University. We were both studying Business and Finance there. Rowena is from Manchester originally, but when we graduated we both headed to London to work in the City.’
‘You’ve a southern accent. You’re from London originally?’ Oh, bugger, he really did have a wife.
‘Berkshire. About thirty minutes from London. My son, Milo, was born in London.’
I smiled. ‘How lovely. You have a little boy?’ Oh, bugger to the power of two: he had a child as well.
‘Well, he’s not that little now – he’s seven.’
‘You and your wife must have had him fairly young?’
‘Yes, I suppose we did. Rowena and I were both working ridiculously long hours, making our way up the financial ladder. A baby certainly wasn’t part of the grand plan; Rowena was back at the bank when he was just two months old.’
‘Blimey.’
Corey smiled at that. ‘Blimey, indeed. Anyway, in a nutshell, Rowena was far more focused than me: finance and big business and being in the centre of London was never really my thing but you get yourself on the treadmill and it’s going so fast you can’t get off.’
‘And did you want to?’
‘Difficult when you’ve a London mortgage, a nanny and school fees to shell out for. It all gets a bit much. Anyway, Rowena was head-hunted back to Manchester and this seemed a great opportunity to get out of the London rat race.’
‘Oh, so you’re actually living back up in th
e north?’
‘Rowena is. I’m not.’ Corey gave a wintry smile and drained his glass.
‘Oh?’
‘Unfortunately, Rowena, unbeknown to me, was also having an affair.’
‘She must be pretty fit, this wife of yours: racing up the slippery pole of Finance, the mother of a seven-year-old boy and still finding the time and the energy to run an extra-marital affair. It takes me all my time to hit the cross-trainer in the gym these days.’
Corey smiled but I could see he was hurting.
‘I’m sorry, that was a bit crass of me,’ I apologised, embarrassed at my attempts to cheer him up. I remembered how I’d wanted to hit anyone who’d tried to trivialise my break-up with Dominic.
‘The plan was that I would carry on in London until something suitable came up in Manchester. By the time it did, Rowena didn’t want me to move to Manchester.’
‘I’m really sorry. That must hurt.’
‘It does.’ Corey looked at me. ‘But mainly because I’m separated from Milo as well as my wife. I try to get up as often as I can to see him. I do need to find work up here – I’ve actually loved this area since being up here at uni – but I’ve no appetite for Finance any more. I keep going for interviews – had one today in Leeds and another tomorrow in Manchester – but I reckon they can see through me. I’m just not interested in money and banking any more. I’ve stayed here in Westenbury a couple of times because it’s between Manchester and Leeds and fairly near to the M62. I can’t bear soulless hotels, and your village is really quite lovely.’
I was curious. ‘So, if banking isn’t your thing any more, what are you interested in?’
‘Something that I can use my hands on, maybe. I’m an artist in my spare time. I wish I was good enough, rich enough and brave enough to just put up my easel and live an artist’s bohemian life.’
‘You’d have to get rid of the Porsche,’ I laughed. ‘Bohemians don’t drive expensive cars.’
‘Nor do they pay school fees.’
‘Get your son into a state school. That would save a bit.’
‘Not fully my decision. Milo is living with Rowena and she’s hell-bent on one of the top schools.’
‘So why the hell were you in Westenbury on Christmas Eve? You know, the night of the dead badger?’
‘I was up to see Milo for Christmas. My mother-in-law had invited me up for the Christmas period. I think she was hoping Rowena and I could sort out our differences and make a go of it…’ Corey glanced up as the outside door opened bringing in a blast of icy air equal to any in actual Val d’Isère. ‘I think your sister is here.’
‘Yes, she is.’ I waved at her as she headed, with Matis, for the bar. ‘Just tell me what happened? Didn’t it work out?’
‘Nope. Rowena picked her moment to tell me she actually wanted a divorce, and that she and Milo wouldn’t be spending Christmas with her family, but I was more than welcome to stay there if I wanted. It didn’t come as any surprise – we’d been apart almost a year.’
‘Ooh, not good.’ I felt really cross with this woman.
‘I couldn’t see myself sitting with Sharon and Bob and their two Yorkshire Terriers on Christmas day, paper hats on our heads – and that’s including the dogs: I hate little dogs, horrible yappy little beasts – and pulling crackers and reading the jokes out in turn over one glass of lukewarm Chardonnay.
‘Heavens, no. I mean, our family Christmases can be a bit strange – my mum can’t cook and we have our thespian Granny spouting all things luvvie – but at least my dad gets out the booze – usually top-notch stuff as well – and we can get well and truly rat-arsed.’
Corey laughed at that. ‘Sounds like my kind of Christmas. So, anyway, I spent Christmas Eve with Milo, took him to see Santa, fed him and me at a rather upmarket restaurant that I’d booked for the three of us months ago and then took him back to the centre of Manchester, where Rowena is renting a flat, and stayed with him until he went to sleep. There seemed little point hanging around after that, so I set off back to London, avoiding the M62, which was closed for some reason. And then I came across a reindeer, a panda and a badger.’
‘What time did you get back?’
‘Around 2 a.m. I went straight back to Uncle Jim’s place in Eaton Square where I’ve been living since Rowena and I sold our London flat.’
‘Uncle Jim?’
Before I could comment further, Daisy bounded over and sat down, spilling Glühwein over her hand as she did so. ‘Shit, that’s hot.’ She licked at her fingers before wiping them down her jeans. ‘Right, where are you up to with the James’s story? Matis is discussing some building work with his brother for ten minutes. I don’t understand a word of Lithuanian, so, come on, let’s crack on with the interesting stuff.’ She beamed at both of us and leaned forwards.
‘Corey was just saying he’s living with James.’
‘Really?’ Daisy pulled a face of surprise. ‘Isn’t he a terribly old man by now? He was even older than Madge and she’s ninety-four.’
‘Uncle Jim – I’ve never known him as James – is pushing ninety-seven and, to say he’s only got one leg, is still pretty active.’
Daisy and I stared. ‘James has only got one leg? Gosh, how come?’
Corey frowned. ‘Didn’t Madge say?’
Daisy shook her head. ‘You have to remember, Corey, we’ve only just found out about James. I actually don’t think Madge would have ever said anything if she’d not decided to sell Holly Close Farm to a distant relative of hers and given the cottage to Charlie and me at the same time. She knew the murder of the policemen would be all brought up again, Nancy would find out that Arthur wasn’t her real father and then the shit would really hit the fan. She’s been telling us what we’ve called “The James Story” in dribs and drabs for several weeks now.’
‘And we didn’t even know James was still alive,’ I interrupted Daisy. ‘As far as we knew he’d died in his bomber during the war, Madge was left pregnant with Nancy and that’s why she married Arthur. You seem to think Madge knew he was still alive?’
‘Well, I don’t know if she is aware that he is still alive now,’ Corey frowned, ‘but she certainly knew that he hadn’t died after all, although, to be fair it wasn’t until eight years or so after the end of the war that she was told. He was severely injured, lost a leg and his face was badly burned when he was shot down over Holland. Since I’ve been living with him, he’s been relating the whole of The Madge Story to Mum and me.’
‘Your Mum?’
Corey nodded. ‘Uncle Jim never had any children of his own…’
‘Well, apart from Nancy,’ Daisy interrupted. ‘Don’t forget Granny Nancy.’
‘But Mum and I didn’t know anything about Nancy until recently,’ Corey said. ‘Anyway, as I was saying, Uncle Jim didn’t have any other children – with Aunt Constance, I mean. My mother, Louise, was Uncle Jim’s sister, Angela’s daughter. My mum lost both her parents when she was just seven and was then brought up by Uncle Jim and Aunt Constance. Mum’s divorced, and when it looked like Uncle Jim might need some help with Constance she went back to live with them. Having said that, he’s a feisty old thing, got all his marbles and doesn’t really need that much looking after now.’
‘Sounds like Madge. Well, before she had this stroke, anyway.’
‘Have you always known about his love for Madge and his wanting to live at Holly Close Farm?’ I asked.
Corey shook his head. ‘No, absolutely nothing has ever been said before, as far as I know. Certainly, The Madge Story is all new to Mum, too. And then Aunt Constance died six months ago and, after that, he’s never shut up about Madge. That’s when he asked me to see if I could find Holly Close Farm when I was up visiting Milo. He wanted to know who was living there now. He didn’t seem at all surprised when I told him it appeared to have been abandoned years ago.’
‘Was he an architect? You know, like Charlie? Or have I made that up?’ Daisy turned to me. ‘Did Madge say that?
’
‘I think she said he started his training at Cambridge, but then the war came and he enlisted. Did he ever go back to it?’
Corey shook his head. ‘No, he went into politics, like a load of my family before him.’ He hesitated. ‘You do know who my uncle Jim is?’
‘As in…?’ Daisy and I both leaned forwards.
‘Your James Montgomery-West is Jim West.’
Daisy and I looked at each other once more. ‘Sorry,’ Daisy frowned, ‘should we know who that is?’
‘Oh, hang on,’ I said, excited. ‘You mean Jim West, the old Labour Party cabinet minister? I learned about him when I did politics at A level. I had to write an essay on him. He started off as a Conservative, moved to the Labour Party and gave up his hereditary peerage so that he could sit in the House of Commons. Hugely left wing? Kept diaries on his political life that have been published? Oh my God, are you telling us that Jim West was Madge’s lover? Is Nancy’s real father? That Jim West is Daisy and my… hang on, what is he…? Our great-grandfather? Bloody hell.’
None of us spoke for a few seconds. ‘So, your great-uncle is our great-grandfather? That means you and Charlie and I are related as well then?’ Daisy was trying to work it all out. ‘Does it matter?’
‘Does what matter?’ Corey and I spoke at the same time and looked at each other and then I glared at Daisy. I knew exactly where she was going with this.
Daisy flushed: she’d even embarrassed herself. ‘I mean, can we all be, you know, friends, if we are, let’s see, second cousins once removed?’
Corey glanced in my direction. ‘I really don’t see why not.’ He smiled. ‘Right, I invited you both to dinner and I’m starving. Shall we go?’
Coming Home To Holly Close Farm Page 27
