Daughter of Riches

by Janet Tanner

  Juliet drifted, trying to grasp the answer she felt sure was there, hiding just out of reach. Then it came to her and suddenly she was wide awake again and trembling.

  ‘I’ll fetch David,’ she had said to Sophia moments before and Sophia had replied: ‘No, no … not David.’ At the time Juliet had assumed she had meant it was Deborah she wanted, not David; Deborah, who always cared for her when she needed it. But now Juliet realised with a shock she might not have meant that at all.

  ‘No, no … not David’ and ‘I couldn’t let him take the blame, I couldn’t!’ spoken almost as a single sentence – a single thought maybe.

  Suppose it had been David Sophia had been protecting all these years? David, nineteen years old in 1971, too young to do anything to prevent his brother ruining his birthright but certainly old enough to realise what was going on. He had been at La Grange at the time of Louis’s death, Juliet remembered, confined to bed with influenza. Like the housekeeper he had claimed to have heard nothing of what happened in the hall. But supposing in fact he had been the one who had pulled the trigger! What would have been more natural than for Sophia to want to protect him? If he had been charged with shooting Louis his whole future would have been in jeopardy. And he was her youngest son, her baby. Had Sophia followed her maternal instincts and laid down her life, metaphorically speaking, for her child?

  My God, how can he live with himself if that is the way it was! Juliet thought. But no wonder Sophia was so utterly paranoid about too many questions! No wonder if she thought her secret was about to be discovered, she was becoming so stressed she was suffering too-frequent recurrences of her heart trouble.

  David! Juliet thought, and shivered. Had her parents known the truth – was that why they had run out on Jersey and Sophia, because they could not stay there knowing David had allowed his mother to take the punishment that should have been his? And did Deborah know?

  Juliet, her skin crawling, got out of bed and crossed to the window. She would never sleep now, she knew. Outside the night was soft and dark, somewhere along the long narrow valley that ran down to the sea an owl hooted. A beautiful place that was her heritage, populated by people she had grown to love too easily for they were her kin. But at that moment Juliet found herself wishing she had never come.

  Chapter twenty-nine

  Deborah’s plane touched down at Jersey Airport just after eleven a.m. She collected the small overnight bag that was her only luggage, walked through the ‘ Nothing to Declare’ channel in the Customs Hall and across to the car park where she had left her Mercedes, every step a silent sigh of relief. It was not much more than twenty-four hours since she had left the island but how glad she was to be back! Once Deborah had thought Jersey dreadfully dull and staid. Not any more. Now it was her haven. Here she was safe; nothing could touch her; nobody would wrench her away from the life that was hers now. Here she was Mrs David Langlois, here she wanted for nothing and never would again. At least, that was what she had thought – until Juliet had arrived and started asking awkward questions!

  Damn her! Deborah thought with a flash of uncharacteristic anger. Why did she have to come? But the anger soon passed. Juliet was David’s niece, a nice kid – she wouldn’t intentionally do anything to hurt him. It was the unintentional that was worrying Deborah.

  Her visit to London had not thrown up any answers to the problems. She had been to see one of her oldest friends, one of the few people who knew everything there was to know about the past and what had happened. Between them, Deborah had thought, they might be able to work out some plan to avert disaster. But this time Grace had been unable to help. They had shared a bottle of Brut, talking deep into the night, and for a while, mellowed by the champagne, Deborah had almost managed to convince herself that it would be all right. But the morning had found the problem still there, as insoluble as ever, and Deborah, with a sense of mounting panic, could see no way out of the long dark tunnel of anxiety into which she had plunged when Juliet had come to Jersey and begun her destructive investigations into the past.

  ‘She won’t find out, darling, not after all this time,’ Grace had said soothingly when the champagne had done its work, and Deborah had wanted to believe her. But with the light of day her fear and dread were as great as ever. Juliet, with her quick enquiring mind, was a danger. She might be very young and casual-looking, her deceptively lazy Sydneyside drawl might lull one into a sense of false security, but beneath it all she was a Langlois and a Carteret, very much a descendant of her grandparents.

  Carterets and Langloises were stickers, Deborah knew. Carterets and Langloises never let go – never. Deborah was very much afraid Juliet would be the same.

  She bit her lip now, fighting the claustrophobic feeling of inevitability that was smothering her. There was really nothing she could do. Grace had only confirmed that. She could try to head Juliet off and she could hope and pray. Deborah had never been religious. But like most people faced with something beyond their control which they fear she discovered a fervent hope that there might indeed be Someone Up There – and if there was that He would come to her assistance.

  Juliet saw Deborah’s car turn into the drive from Sophia’s bedroom window.

  ‘Deborah is home, Grandma,’ she said conversationally and saw Sophia’s face light up.

  ‘Oh good!’

  She was looking surprisingly well this morning for someone who had been so ill only last night, Juliet thought, intensely relieved. She could so easily have died – and almost certainly would have had Juliet not come home and found her in time. But as before her recovery was little short of miraculous. Sophia was clearly very strong despite the weakness that caused her heart problems but Juliet had taken no chances. Sophia always had breakfast in bed – as soon as it was over Juliet had gone to sit and talk to her to make sure she did not try to get up and over exert herself. It had meant passing up the arrangement she had made to go to Dan’s this morning and that, admittedly, had caused her a pang of regret. The time they would have together before she had to leave was all too short. But Juliet had no intention of letting anything stand in the way of her concern for Sophia’s welfare. She felt guilty enough already. So she had phoned Dan to explain, then gone upstairs to Sophia’s room.

  Typically, Sophia was very interested to know about Juliet’s evening. Going out for dinner Juliet had had to break the news that she was seeing Dan, and Sophia had shaken her head: ‘Well, well, Dan’s son! If he’s like his father I’m sure he’s a very nice boy.’ But she had said nothing about Catherine and Dan Senior and Juliet guessed that was Catherine’s secret. ‘Hardly a boy! He must be about thirty,’ she had laughed, and Sophia had laughed with her. ‘ I suppose he must. But at my age anything less than forty seems very young indeed!’

  Now she listened with interest as Juliet described their meal and tactfully refrained from mentioning the fact that it seemed to have lasted rather a long time!

  ‘You haven’t given up any plans to stay here with me, have you?’ she asked after a while. ‘If you have I shall be very cross because there is absolutely no need. I shall be perfectly all right. I have all the mail to attend to and if I don’t feel like doing that I can read the papers and cudgel my brains over the crosswords. You get out and enjoy the sunshine.’

  ‘I see quite a bit of sunshine in Australia,’ Juliet hedged. ‘It’s not really a novelty to me.’

  ‘I suppose not. Your parents certainly knew what they were doing when they chose Australia,’ Sophia said, smiling, and Juliet registered mild surprise. Sophia so rarely mentioned her middle son and his wife and more than once Juliet had thought how odd her silence was – one would have expected her to be full of questions about what they were doing and so on, but she was not. It was almost as if she had cut them out of her life and her mind. But then of course in twenty years she had not visited them and they had not visited her. Perhaps she harboured some deep resentment that they had gone off leaving the rest of the family in a time of crisis,
perhaps they had their own reasons, such as being unwilling to go along with what they knew to be a charade. Whatever the reason the division was there and was seldom breached. That Sophia was voluntarily mentioning Robin and Molly now might have given Juliet an opening to ask what it was that had caused the split but she was determined not to do so. She did not want to risk upsetting her grandmother again. To her surprise, however, Sophia continued with the same line of conversation.

  ‘Of course Molly was always a sunworshipper,’ she said with a reflective smile. ‘When she was a little girl she was brown as a berry all summer long. The boys had such fair skin, they burnt very easily. I remember once Robin stayed out in it longer than he should, and ended up so red and sore he couldn’t even bear the sheet over him in bed at night. I had to dab him all over with Calomine lotion but he still couldn’t sleep. Not Molly though. No, not Molly.’

  She was silent and Juliet knew she was seeing them as children – those same children in the faded photographs in the attic; her mother, hair in beribboned pigtails, dressed in short flouncy cotton frocks, her father a little too thin and gangly in shorts and white cotton ankle socks, and Louis, so good looking even as a child, standing hands on hips, master of all he surveyed.

  ‘We have to be a little more careful these days,’ Juliet said, wanting to change the subject without really knowing why. ‘Skin cancer is a real threat and nobody soaks up the sun the way they used to – at least, not if they have any sense.’

  Sophia shook her head. ‘Skin cancer. Oh dear, dear. It seems these days there’s a Government health warning attached to anything the least bit enjoyable. I think I’m glad I’ve had my day. We might have lived through some dreadful times but at least when they were over we were allowed to enjoy the simple pleasures of life without dire predictions to spoil them.’

  ‘I think I enjoy life,’ Juliet said.

  ‘Make sure you do, my dear. It’s too short for anything else. Oh, I’m not encouraging you to be rash, of course, but don’t be afraid either. There’s nothing more debilitating than fear.’

  Juliet nodded. Somehow it was impossible to imagine her grandmother ever being afraid. No – that was not true. She would be afraid sometimes, of course, only a fool was never afraid and Sophia was certainly not a fool. But she would not allow it to rule her. Never that.

  They chatted on but the subject of Robin and Molly was allowed to lapse once more. At eleven Juliet went down to the kitchen and fetched a freshly perked jug of coffee. She was just setting the empty cups back on the tray to take back downstairs when she saw Deborah’s car turn into the drive.

  ‘Why on earth does she have collagen injections?’ she asked conversationally. ‘She really doesn’t need them.’

  ‘Perhaps the end result is so good you think she doesn’t need them!’ Sophia smiled. ‘But no, I have to admit, I think Deborah is far too young to be worrying about that sort of thing. And quite honestly I can never tell any difference when she gets back. You may be able to but I can’t. Still, I suppose when one is as attractive as Deborah it’s very easy to get paranoid about losing one’s looks. Quite a nightmare really, looking into the mirror and seeing that perfect image becoming less than perfect. Most of us mere mortals are used to that from very early on. But Deborah is such a darling we must allow her one or two little foibles.’

  Her tone was indulgent and her face soft with love.

  ‘You’re very close to Deborah aren’t you, Grandma?’ Juliet said.

  ‘She’s the daughter I never had. I couldn’t wish for more.’ It was said so simply and with such feeling that Juliet felt quite humble.

  ‘Whenever I have needed her, Deborah has been there,’ Sophia went on very softly. ‘She took care of things for me when I wasn’t able to and when I came back we became very dear friends. I owe Deborah a debt I can never repay.’

  Juliet said nothing. She turned away so that Sophia should not see the thought that flashed across her mind. David. Was that what Sophia had been referring to when she said Deborah had ‘ taken care of things when she had been unable to’? That Deborah had looked after David, nineteen years old, totally out of his depth, horrified at what he had done and the chain of events he had unleashed? But it had to remain speculation. She could not ask. Not now.

  ‘I’m going to take the coffee cups back downstairs, Grandma,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell Deborah what has happened and I’m sure she’ll be right up to see you.’

  Sophia smiled, the serene smile of a woman whose world has once more come right.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I am sure she will.’

  Deborah had left her small suitcase in the hall and gone through to the kitchen.

  ‘Is there any coffee left?’ she asked as Juliet came in. ‘It smells divine after the dishwater in plastic cups they serve on the plane.’

  She was looking coolly elegant as ever in navy gaucho pants and an emerald green cropped jacket. Juliet examined her face for signs of any change the collagen injections might have wrought and was disappointed. Deborah looked exactly as she had when she left, no better and no worse. But still, it had to be admitted, pretty good!

  ‘I think Grandma and I finished off the first lot but it won’t take long to make more.’ Juliet set down the tray. ‘Deborah – I need to talk to you. Grandma had another turn last night.’

  ‘Oh my goodness! Is she …?’

  ‘She’s not too bad this morning all things considered but I must say it was pretty alarming at the time.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘We don’t really know. I found her collapsed in the drawing-room doorway at around midnight. We called Dr Clavell but by the time he got here she was already beginning to recover.’

  ‘I must go straight up and see her.’ Deborah hurried to the door. Her face was ashen.

  ‘She’s much better this morning, I promise,’ Juliet said quickly. ‘There is no need to worry now.’

  Deborah, her hand on the door, half-turned, speaking more to herself than to Juliet. ‘ No need to worry? Oh, it’s easy to say that! I should never have gone – I should never have left her.’

  ‘Deborah, for goodness’ sake, you have to have some life of your own! I was here, David was here.’

  For a moment Deborah’s beautiful face seemed to express anxiety, guilt and love all at the same time, together with some other even deeper and more powerful emotion. Then she was gone, her footsteps flying up the stairs.

  Frowning Juliet set the coffee to perk once more. Presumably Deborah was blaming herself for not being here when Sophia was taken ill, but surely her reaction had been a little excessive? No one could have foreseen her attack and Deborah had been gone for one night only. When the coffee was ready Juliet laid the tray up again and carried it upstairs.

  Deborah was sitting beside Sophia’s bed, leaning over to hold her hands. The closeness between them had never been more apparent and Juliet felt a pang of envy. If her parents had not emigrated perhaps she might have had a relationship such as this with her grandmother. Perhaps, if she stayed in Jersey, she still could.

  ‘Coffee!’ she said.

  Deborah straightened. She looked more relaxed now, as if seeing Sophia for herself had set her mind at rest.

  ‘Wonderful! Are you having some, Sophia?’

  ‘No thank you, dear. Juliet and I just drank one pot dry and I’m not sure too much coffee is good for me. I’m afraid I’m going to have to start being very careful about a lot of things and coffee may well be one of them. I gave my granddaughter a terrible fright last night, didn’t I, Juliet?’

  ‘You certainly did!’

  ‘If she hadn’t come in when she did I don’t know what would have happened. Or, in fact, if she had been in bed and asleep. Juliet went out last night, you see, Deborah. She’s met … someone. And I must say I for one am hoping perhaps she’s going to fall in love and decide to stay in Jersey. I wouldn’t expect her to do it for an old woman like me but if there’s a young man involved it could be a very
different story.’

  ‘Yes.’ But Deborah didn’t look as pleased as she might at the prospect of her niece remaining in Jersey permanently. ‘So who’s the lucky lad, Juliet?’

  ‘Well, his name is Dan Deffains.’

  ‘Daniel Deffains’ son,’ Sophia put in. ‘My advocate, remember? He dealt with all the Langlois business for years. It’s a small world, isn’t it?’

  There was a pregnant pause when the atmosphere in the room was suddenly charged with something Juliet could not understand. Then Deborah said: ‘Dan Deffains? Really – how very strange!’

  ‘Isn’t it just?’ Sophia smiled at Juliet, seemingly unaware of anything wrong. ‘I was always terribly fond of Dan and I know Catherine was too. You must invite his son for dinner, Juliet – unless I’m being too presumptive, of course. But I really would love to meet him.’

  Deborah said nothing but her lips were tight. Why doesn’t she like him, Juliet wondered. What could she possibly have against him?

  But she was filled with a sense of foreboding. Something about Dan had set Deborah on her guard. Juliet very much wanted to know what it was.

  She did not have long to wait. When she went downstairs Deborah followed.

  ‘How did you come to meet Dan Deffains?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Juliet hedged.

  ‘It seems a tremendous coincidence with a whole islandful of eligible men you should have run into the son and namesake of Sophia’s one-time advocate.’

  ‘Life is full of coincidences,’ Juliet said uncomfortably. ‘But I rather get the impression you don’t approve. Don’t you like him?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know. I’ve actually never met him.’ Deborah took a packet of cigarettes from her bag and lit one. Juliet noticed her hand was trembling slightly.