by Janet Tanner
‘All families have skeletons in the cupboard, Juliet. There is nothing unusual in that. But sometimes it is best if they stay there. Almost always it’s best.’
Again a shiver of discomfort whispered up the back of Juliet’s neck. What was her aunt talking about? But perhaps she had probed enough for one afternoon.
‘I’m sorry, Aunt Catherine, I’m asking far too many questions,’ she said with forced lightness. ‘And besides, I think I should be getting back. I’m being taken out to dinner tonight, to one of the hotels. It’s just won a special award for its cuisine – chefs’ hats, or something.’
‘I think you will find they all have, my dear,’ Catherine said, laughing. ‘I expect you are going to Les Belles Fleurs; that has the most elaborate restaurant. But I know Sophia’s special favourite is the smallest and most intimate – La Maison Blanche.’
‘The one that began it all. Of course, she lived there as a child.’
‘We all did,’ Catherine said, reminding Juliet that she was Sophia’s sister. ‘Nicky and Paul, Sophia and me.’
‘Nicky – he was killed in the war, wasn’t he?’
‘He … died.’
‘Oh, I thought Dad said …’
Catherine smiled sadly. ‘Family skeletons again, my dear. I will tell you about that one when you’ve more time but I warn you, it’s a sad story. Now …’
‘Yes, I really must go. Grandma wouldn’t want to take me out to dinner looking like this.’
‘I think you look very nice. Turquoise suits you and you have the legs to wear a mini skirt. Would that I could say the same!’
She reached for her straw hat, jammed it on to her irrepressible grey curls and followed Juliet to the door. At the gate Juliet turned to wave and Catherine thought with a stab of surprise how like Sophia as a young girl she looked. The thought reminded her again of Juliet’s impassioned defence of her grandmother and with it came the sinking sense of dread that she had experienced when Juliet had intimated that she was going to rake up the past.
Oh dear, she hoped she had persuaded her against that. There were so many things better forgotten. But in many ways Catherine could understand very well how Juliet felt. She, too, had been convinced of her sister’s innocence. She, too, had been determined to prove it. Only one thing had stopped her from trying and that had been Sophia herself.
Catherine drew a deep steadying breath, remembering that day when she had visited Sophia in custody as clearly as if it had been only yesterday.
‘I don’t believe you did this, Sophia,’ she had said, ‘and somehow I am going to make everyone else see you couldn’t have done it.’
Sophia’s face had been pale and haunted, her amethyst eyes dark with grief. But the hand she had laid on Catherine’s arm had been steady and her voice had been clear and strong.
‘I killed Louis, Catherine! Try to prove otherwise and I swear I will never forgive you!’
Chapter five
At the secluded table in the Rose Room Restaurant at Les Belles Fleurs the Langlois family party had just finished dessert.
‘I think you should speak to the chef, David,’ Sophia said, laying down her spoon. ‘The texture of my fool was far too bland – more like a mousse. A fool should be slightly coarse. And the colouring he has used to decorate that strawberry gateau can only be described as garish.’
Juliet glanced at her grandmother in surprise. She had seemed such an easy person to be with; this was the first time Juliet had witnessed the formidable professional perfectionism that came into play where the hotels were concerned. Obviously their enormously high standard had not happened by accident and was only maintained by constant vigilance, but all the same Juliet could not help feeling sorry for the chef, who had provided a five-course haute cuisine meal and supervised a sweet trolley groaning under no less than fifteen different desserts.
‘My rhum baba was very good,’ she volunteered.
Viv laughed. ‘Any of them would taste good to me but I daren’t eat them. Not with a spreading waistline like mine! I’m afraid I must just wait for the cheese – and then choose Edam!’
‘You would be able to eat more interesting things, Viv, if you didn’t drink so much,’ Sophia said tartly. ‘Do you know how many calories there are in alcohol?’
‘Well thank you for that advice, Sophia!’ Viv reached for her glass and raised it mockingly at her sister-in-law. ‘I’m afraid I intend going right on being a sinner. And I must say it has a great deal more going for it than being a plaster saint!’
The pointedness of the remark caused a moment’s total silence around the table. Sophia and Viv had never been close; they were essentially too different to be friends, and the family skeletons Catherine had mentioned jangled uncomfortably between them, never mentioned, perhaps not even thought about very often these days, but there all the same, engendering deep-seated resentments and criticisms. Generally, for the sake of family harmony, their mutual antagonism was buried deep beneath a social veneer. Tonight, however, the gloves were off, and without a doubt Sophia had instigated the spat.
Juliet looked down at her plate, embarrassed by the exchange. Then Deborah cut quickly into the awkward silence.
‘Talking of drinks I was sampling some of the Australian wines the other day. It’s funny, I’d always thought of Oz in terms of Castlemaine XXXX but I can see now how blinkered I have been. They really are very good aren’t they, Juliet?’
‘I’m glad they’re being discovered,’ Juliet agreed, relieved at the change of subject. ‘The Hunter Valley isn’t that far from Sydney – did you visit it when you were over?’
‘No. Australia is so vast and we had so little time – thanks to David’s fond belief that the Langlois Leisure Chain would collapse if he was away from it for more than a couple of weeks.’
Two attentive waiters removed the dessert dishes, a third brought the cheeseboard to the table, yet another refilled their wine glasses from the bottle of Chablis that had come to the table in a silver ice bucket.
‘Not Australian, I’m afraid,’ David said with an apologetic smile. ‘But almost as good!’
‘It’s impossible to beat Chablis in my opinion,’ Sophia said, and again Juliet was startled by her grandmother’s aggressive tone. It simply was not like her – or not like the person Juliet had been allowed to see, at any rate – and the change was disconcerting.
Once again it was Deborah who stepped swiftly in to change the subject. David had recently acquired the land for a large car park near the Westerley, one of the chain of hotels, and at present it was being landscaped with trees, shrubs and flowers with the intention of making it beautiful as well as functional. Juliet found herself admiring the other woman’s social skills as she steered the conversation away from dangerous waters by raising the subject of the most recent Langlois project.
‘Our gardens are going to rival the Howard Davis Park by the time we have finished with them,’ she said, smiling. ‘Visitors are going to book into the Westerley simply for the privilege of parking their cars amongst two hundred rose bushes.’
‘The Howard Davis Park is famous for its glorious floral displays, Juliet,’ Sophia explained. ‘ It is also the site of a garden of remembrance for a great many poor men who died here during the war. I hope it’s not your intention that our car park should also become a cemetery, Deborah!’
Glancing at her grandmother, Juliet was disturbed to see how tired she suddenly looked. There were dark shadows under her eyes and they were accented by the high colour in her cheeks, which might have been caused by the use of a little more blusher than usual or was perhaps a result of the fact that despite the overhead fans it was rather warm in the restaurant.
Perhaps she had been keeping her grandmother up too late, Juliet thought doubtfully. Almost every evening they had remained downstairs in the lovely peaches and cream drawing-room, chatting about anything and everything long after the others had retired to bed.
‘Who is responsible for the landsca
ping of the garden?’ Viv asked, emptying her glass and giving a sideways look at the bottle of Chablis to see if there was anything left in it.
‘The best firm in Jersey, naturally,’ Deborah smiled.
‘Assisted by my wife.’ David beamed proudly and not for the first time Juliet thought how nice it was that someone who had been married for fifteen years, as David had been, should still be so transparently in love with his wife. At every opportunity David had his arm around her – in the most unobtrusive way, of course, but he never seemed to miss a chance to steer her to her chair or help her in or out of her car. Besides this, he listened when she talked with a rapt expression and could often be caught looking at her with pride and love. Sharp businessman David might be but clearly where Deborah was concerned David was totally vulnerable.
Like Dad with Mum, Juliet thought, for over the years she had seen Robin behave in much the same way with Molly. Not as often nowadays perhaps but still … was it a trait of all the Langlois men? She rather fancied she had heard her parents remark on how Bernard had adored Sophia. So what about Louis? He had never married, of course, but had there been a woman in his life whom he would have cheerfully killed for? If only there were someone she could ask – but she knew instinctively that Louis was a taboo subject. It was as if he had never existed at all, so completely had he been cut out of their lives.
‘I didn’t know you had a talent for gardens, Deborah,’ Viv was saying.
‘I haven’t, Viv. I don’t know the first thing about growing things. I just know what I like.’
‘And very nice it is too,’ David said loyally. ‘Deb has an incredible eye for colour.’
She certainly has, Juliet thought. Tonight Deborah was wearing a purple silk dinner suit teamed with a fuchsia pink camisole. Lipstick and nail varnish of exactly the same pink and eyeshadows and blusher several tones lighter completed the stunning all-over effect so that by comparison Juliet felt almost insignificant in her own favourite dress of delicate sorbet shades. If Deborah had designed the garden with half the flair she showed in dressing herself it would certainly be a glorious sight.
‘Well well!’ Viv was saying. ‘A landscaping artiste and an interior designer both in one family – around one table if it comes to that! Whilst Deborah is designing gardens you could be supervising the decor, Juliet. Though I warn you, with the standards expected of Langlois Hotels, it would be a little like painting the Forth Bridge.’
‘The Forth Bridge?’
‘Sorry – perhaps in Australia you say Sydney Harbour …’
A small choking sound made them turn towards the head of the table. Sophia had half-risen. She was holding onto the edge of the table but even so she was swaying slightly.
‘Mother!’ David was out of his chair in a flash but Deborah was quicker. She reached Sophia in a split second, slipping an arm around the slim wavering figure to steady her.
‘Sophia – darling – aren’t you feeling well? Sit down! We’ll get you a glass of water …’
‘I’m sorry … I’m feeling a little dizzy.’ Sophia’s voice was shaky. ‘I think perhaps one of my tablets …’
‘Yes, darling, of course. Only sit down for a moment while I find it.’ She eased Sophia back into the chair and rummaged in her bag for a small enamelled pill box. An anxious waiter was hovering.
‘Could we have a glass of water please?’ David said to him. ‘My mother is unwell.’
‘Of course.’ As he hurried away Debbie extracted a pill and passed it to Sophia, who placed it under her tongue.
‘I knew she was going to have one of her turns,’ Paul muttered. ‘I can always tell. When she gets snappy …’
‘Paul!’ Viv hissed.
‘It’s true. It’s a sure sign.’
‘But what is it?’ Juliet asked anxiously. ‘ What’s wrong with her?’
‘It’s her heart. She’s had the problem for years. It tends to play up when she’s been overdoing things.’
‘Oh my goodness! Is it my fault?’
‘No,’ Sophia’s voice was faint but also acid with self-mockery. ‘Of course it’s not your fault, Juliet. It’s just me being silly.’
‘You are not being silly, Mother. You can’t help something like this.’
‘I should be able to! Ruining the evening for everyone.’
‘The trouble with you, Sophia, is that you don’t like it if you’re not in complete control of everything and everybody,’ Paul said with heavy-handed humour. ‘And you haven’t ruined the evening anyway. It’s all but over and we’ve all had a wonderful time.’
The waiter reappeared with a carafe of water and a glass. Deborah held it to Sophia’s lips and after a moment her colour began to return.
‘Feeling better?’ Deborah asked.
Sophia smiled unsteadily. ‘Yes, my dear. Thank you. I think it’s time for me to go home, though. Will you …?’
‘Of course.’ Deborah took her arm and helped her to her feet again, then she and David armed her out of the room.
‘Well,’ Viv said, collecting her bag and Deborah’s, ‘she did look peaky for the minute didn’t she?’
‘I knew it!’ Paul muttered. ‘I could see she wasn’t feeling too good.’
‘So you keep saying,’ Viv snapped. ‘If you could see it why the hell didn’t you warn us instead of letting us sit here in blissful ignorance?’
‘She will be all right won’t she?’ Juliet asked anxiously.
‘I expect so. She’s had these heart turns for ages, ever since …’ Viv broke off but Juliet knew exactly what it was she had been going to say. Her grandmother had been having trouble with her heart ever since Louis had died.
‘Is there anything I can do, do you think?’ Juliet offered.
‘I doubt it. Leave her to David and Deborah. They are used to it,’ Paul advised. ‘ Tell you what, I’ll run you back to La Grange in my car and we’ll stop off for a nightcap since the evening has been cut short. How does that grab you, Viv?’
‘It doesn’t. I’d rather get home, thank you. But we can go via La Grange. That will save Juliet having to travel in the ambulance.’
The note of sarcasm was so obvious Juliet winced – even now Viv couldn’t stop making unpleasant little digs. Juliet experienced a rush of protective love for the grandmother she had only met again so recently.
‘There’s plenty of room in Uncle David’s car,’ she said quickly. ‘I can sit in the back with Grandma and make sure she is all right.’
Viv’s lip curled. ‘Oh, I expect Deborah will be doing that,’ she said maliciously.
‘Juliet is a nice girl,’ Paul said as he reversed his black BMW out of its parking space. ‘Her heart is in the right place.’
‘Mm, you’re right,’ Viv agreed, getting out a cigarette and lighting it. ‘ I have to say I half expected a gold digger but she’s certainly not that. She is pleasant and intelligent and I rather sense hidden fire, though don’t ask me why. Heaven knows, when you think of her parents it’s a miracle she has turned out so well.’
‘That’s a bit harsh, Viv,’ Paul said, completing the manoeuvre and setting the car on the road home.
‘Is it? Molly is a child who never grew up and Robin …’ By leaving the sentence unfinished Viv left no room for doubt as to her feelings about Robin. She drew on her Winston and the car began to fill with a cloud of pungent smoke. ‘Still, I suppose they at least achieved what we never did – an offspring,’ she added wryly.
Paul said nothing and after a moment she continued, her voice dangerously bright.
‘It’s rather strange when you come to think of it how this family has shrunk. There were four of you, after all. One would have expected a dynasty, the sort of family tree that runs off the edge of the paper. And what happened? Nicky dies, Catherine never marries, you … have me. Only Sophia has children – three of them. And sons to boot. Three boys to carry on the name of Langlois, if not the Carteret name. But between them those three boys have only managed to produce one chi
ld and she is a girl. Ironic, don’t you think?’
‘If you say so.’
Though Paul liked to think of himself these days as a driving force in the business dealings of the Langlois empire there was a great deal of acquiescence in his nature. At the office he often blustered in a conscious effort to appear forceful and decisive but in private he all too often opted for the easy way out, especially when his wife was at her most loquacious and waspish. Arguing with Viv was tiresome and seldom got him anywhere – he had never known anyone so determined to have the last word – and he had never been able to summon up any enthusiasm to join in her habit of dissecting the vagaries of fate. Now he switched off as he usually did when she began on one of her discourses, deliberately distancing himself so that her rather shrill voice became as much a part of the background as the hum of the engine and he was free to pursue his own undemanding train of thought.
‘I wouldn’t mind betting David would like a family,’ Viv continued. ‘A couple of sons to carry on the business when you are all past it and a pretty little girl to sit on his knee and gaze at him with adoring eyes. But somehow I can’t see it happening. I can’t imagine Deborah …’
She laughed suddenly, a snort of mirth so piercing not even he could ignore it.
‘What’s funny?’ he asked.
‘The idea of Deborah in a maternity smock, with that wonderful figure of hers of which she is so damned proud going to pot underneath it. No, the Fall of the House of Carteret is down to one thing – the men marry women who can’t, or won’t, have children.’
She was angling, Paul knew, trying to needle him into saying something he would later regret. That was the trouble with Viv, too much drink sometimes made her maudlin and she would pick away at the old scabs until she revealed the raw and bleeding wound beneath.
‘You can say what you like about Deborah, but she has been more than good to Sophia,’ he said amiably, trying to divert her from the path of self-destruction he sensed she was set upon, and to his relief the ploy seemed to succeed.
