Victoria Connelly - The Rose Girl

by Unknown

  ‘Ah, yes. You know I mentioned the possibility of selling to a private buyer? Well, we’ve got someone interested in the Fantin-Latour,’ he said.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘If you’d be up for selling outside an auction. Our gallery has a list of clients whom we keep in touch with for when such pieces come onto the market. They’re usually willing to pay top dollar.’

  ‘And they’ve seen it?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Julian said. ‘We’ve sent them images and information and they’re going to fly in from the States in the next couple of weeks.’

  ‘Wow,’ Celeste said. ‘Flying in for our little painting.’

  ‘It’s not just any little painting, though,’ he said.

  ‘I guess not,’ Celeste said. ‘Still, I can’t quite imagine it hanging on any wall other than our own. Is that strange?’

  ‘Not at all. It would be strange if you didn’t feel like that.’

  ‘But we’ve got to sell it,’ Celeste said, thinking aloud. She couldn’t do a U-turn now – not with somebody flying in from the States with their chequebook.

  ‘Have you got a quote yet for the north wing?’ he asked.

  ‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘It’s terrible but I’ve been putting it off until we actually have some money in the bank. I know it can’t wait but I’m really dreading it. I just know the truth is going to be much worse than any of us can anticipate.’

  They were silent for a moment and then Celeste cleared her throat.

  ‘And that was it, was it?’ she said.

  ‘Excuse me?’ Julian said.

  ‘The news about the private buyer for the Fantin-Latour,’ Celeste said. ‘That was why you called?’

  ‘Yes,’ Julian said with a smile. ‘Thought I’d better run it by you.’

  Celeste nodded. ‘Well, thank you for taking the time to call by,’ she said, getting up from her chair.

  Julian looked flustered. ‘Right.’

  ‘That is all, isn’t it?’ she said, seeing his face.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘That’s all.’

  They walked through the hallway, where Julian stopped to examine the barometer.

  ‘It’s saying Change,’ he said.

  ‘It always says Change,’ Celeste told him. ‘No matter what the weather is doing.’

  ‘I know a chap who could fix that for you,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, no!’ Celeste said, ‘I like it. It makes you feel optimistic if the weather’s bad and makes you realise the importance of enjoying it if it’s good.’

  He smiled. ‘That’s a very lovely way of putting things,’ he said, and they walked outside together. The sun was warm but there was a light breeze blowing and the scent of roses hit them almost immediately.

  ‘Gertrude Jekyll,’ Celeste said, ‘and Evelyn.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘The roses I can smell.’

  ‘The roses your sisters are named after?’

  ‘That’s right. Two of Mother’s favourite scents. We always make sure there are plenty near the house – look.’ She pointed to a border nearby where the deep pink and apricot roses were growing in profusion.

  ‘And where is yours?’

  ‘Celestial is just around the corner but I’m afraid she’s past her best now. She doesn’t repeat flower like the David Austin roses. But she has a special beauty that’s all her own.’

  ‘What colour is she?’ Julian asked.

  ‘Shell-pink. Her petals are almost translucent,’ Celeste said. ‘She’s a very healthy and robust rose.’

  ‘Like you?’ Julian said.

  ‘I don’t know about robust,’ Celeste said.

  ‘It sounds to me like you’ve weathered pretty well recently with everything you’ve had to cope with,’ he said as their feet crunched lightly over the gravel path.

  ‘What choice did I have?’ she said with a shrug.

  ‘Well, you could have gone under. A lot of people would have.’

  ‘Gone under?’ she said.

  ‘Given in, given up, run away, gone mad,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ she said.

  ‘You see – you’re robust!’ he said with a smile.

  She shrugged. ‘I just try to get on. I’ve a job to do here. If only –’ She stopped. Julian watched her for a moment before prompting her.

  ‘If only?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said, suddenly realising that they’d walked out into the garden.

  She stopped and turned to look at the manor house, its castellations and mullioned windows perfectly reflected in the clear waters of the moat.

  ‘It’s an awful thing to say because I really love this place, but it doesn’t feel like mine, you know? Growing up here, it was my grandparents’ home and then it became my parents’. I was only ever passing through. When I left it to get married, I never thought I’d come back, and I can’t help feeling that I’m no longer a part of life here.’

  Julian frowned. ‘I’m sure your sisters don’t feel the same way. I bet they love having you back.’

  ‘They love that I’ve come to help sort everything out,’ she said and then bit her lip. What was it about this man that made her divulge so much? Was it that old adage about it being easier to talk to strangers than to friends?

  ‘You sound so tense, Celeste. You find it impossible to relax, don’t you?’ Julian said, and they began walking back to the house, passing under an arch covered in creamy-white roses that smelled of heaven.

  ‘That’s not true,’ she said.

  ‘No? Well, you’re doing a pretty good impression of somebody who can’t relax.’

  ‘It just might take me slightly longer than the average person to relax – that’s all.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Smell that,’ she said.

  Julian inhaled deeply. ‘That’s lovely.’

  Celeste nodded. ‘That helps me relax. Sometimes, I come out into the garden and do nothing but breathe. Does that sound funny?’

  ‘Not at all,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll sit on a sun-warmed bench and close my eyes and inhale. Even when the roses aren’t in bloom, there’s always something wonderful to smell.’

  ‘Like earth after rain,’ Julian said.

  ‘Yes,’ Celeste said, looking at him. ‘Exactly.’

  ‘That’s why I want to move out of the city,’ he said as they reached the driveway and his car. ‘I want to be able to smell more than the Chinese cooking coming through the vent from my neighbours’ flat.’

  Celeste laughed.

  ‘That’s the first time I’ve seen you laugh,’ he said, which instantly made Celeste stop. The conversation suddenly felt far too intimate.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ she said. ‘Work to do.’

  Julian nodded. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’ll keep in touch about the Fantin-Latour.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, watching as he hopped into the MG and waved a hand before driving across the moat and out into the lane.

  ‘What did Julian want?’ Evie asked, walking out from under the gatehouse and joining Celeste.

  ‘He had some news about the Fantin-Latour. Good news, I think,’ Celeste said.

  ‘About a possible sale?’

  Celeste nodded.

  ‘How can that possibly be good news?’ Evie said, glaring at her sister before marching into the garden, no doubt to take her anger out on some poor rose bush.

  16.

  Gertie looked at her phone. James hadn’t called her for a whole week and had sent only one text during that time too. She sat down on the wrought iron bench that was positioned against the outside of the walled garden. A few years ago, they had made a border filled with only white flowers in honour of the famous white garden at Sissinghurst in Kent which the sisters had visited many times and which was a great source of inspiration to them. As well as being filled with perfect white roses, it was planted with lilies, tulips, foxgloves, anemones, delphiniums, alliums and jasmine. Its real glory was at night when the flowers seemed almost luminou
s, holding within them a ghostly, glowing light.

  Sitting there now, Gertie was little comforted by the white beauty that surrounded her. All she was interested in was her phone, willing it to ring or to beep. Any sign of life to tell her that she was important and merited thought from the man she was in love with.

  She looked up, her eyes not quite focusing on the pure white petals of the roses before her. Instead, she was imagining a place far away. She and James had often talked about leaving Little Eleigh because they knew that their relationship would never be accepted in their village, where memories stretched back decades. Gertie would always be the woman who had stolen James from his wife – his disabled wife. She would be gossiped about even if she wasn’t publicly shunned.

  So, even though it would break her heart to leave her home, she was willing to make that sacrifice for him, and they had talked endlessly about moving abroad – to a hilltop town in the South of France or Italy, perhaps, somewhere they could lose themselves and start afresh. Gertie had always dreamed of a life abroad and it was a dream she clung to whenever she felt lonely and uncertain of the future and whenever the strains of their mother’s illness had got to her. If I get through this, I’m going, she’d told herself. Only it hadn’t been that simple. There had been so much to do after Penelope had died and Gertie simply hadn’t been able to walk out on it all.

  If only James would give her some indication of when it would happen. She felt as if she’d stopped breathing a long time ago and hadn’t yet been given permission to inhale and exhale again.

  If only I could tell Celeste, she thought, truly believing that the weight of secrecy she was carrying would be lightened considerably if she could talk about it to her dear sister. Celeste had always been the best listener in the world. Guarded in what she revealed to people herself, she was, nevertheless, the perfect confidante, for she never passed judgement.

  Gertie had shared so many fears and doubts with her older sister over the years – fears about school and friends and the future, and doubts about boyfriends too. Celeste had always been there with her reassuring calmness and a sage nod of the head. But she had quite enough to cope with at the moment and Gertie didn’t feel that she could unload all of her worries onto her. Not yet, anyway.

  She looked at her watch and sighed. She’d spent enough time moping and had to get on. There was a lot to do before they left for dinner with their father.

  Marcus Coombs was short and portly with small eyes and a nose that was far too big for his face, even though his face was a considerable size. But, despite the oddness of his appearance, he had an infectious laugh that filled rooms and made people feel instantly welcome. The same couldn’t be said about his second wife, Simone.

  ‘I hate her,’ Evie said as they pulled into the driveway of their father’s house.

  ‘We know you do,’ Gertie said. ‘You tell us every time we visit.’

  ‘I don’t know why Dad can’t just come over to ours,’ Evie said.

  ‘I don’t think Simone would let him,’ Celeste said.

  ‘Why not?’ Evie said.

  ‘Well, he might decide he wants to stay with us rather than go back home to her,’ Celeste said and Evie giggled.

  ‘I wouldn’t blame him,’ she said.

  ‘She must make his life a misery,’ Gertie said.

  ‘No worse than Mum did,’ Celeste said, thinking of how life with their mother must have been a nightmare. Celeste often wondered how their father had put up with Penelope for so long, with her vicious mood swings and endless name-calling, but he’d seemed to have had the ability to shut off from her. Until the day he’d had enough, of course. Celeste remembered it well. It had been an unnervingly quiet departure, with their father packing a modest suitcase and walking down the staircase, whistling a tuneless whistle to himself.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Penelope had cried after him.

  ‘Away. I’m leaving you,’ he’d said, as if it was only to be expected. Celeste, who had been fifteen at the time, had watched from the living room door as her father had taken one last look at the barometer, nodding sagely at the word Change, and then had opened the front door and calmly walked out.

  The screaming hadn’t started until later that evening when their mother had taken things out on Celeste.

  ‘It’s your fault,’ Penelope had told her daughter. ‘He can’t bear to be around you anymore. You always ruin things for people.’

  It wasn’t until years later that their father had confided in Celeste. ‘Your mother wasn’t the easiest woman to love,’ he’d told her, ‘and I tried. I really tried.’ And Celeste had known that he was telling the truth because she’d tried to love her mother too and had failed.

  ‘Why do we have to do this?’ Evie whined, bringing Celeste back into the present.

  ‘Because we’re grownups and we have to put ourselves through this sort of thing occasionally,’ Celeste told her.

  ‘But Simone hates us as much as we hate her.’

  ‘Yes, but Dad loves her and we have to try and get along for his sake,’ Celeste said.

  ‘But she never makes an effort for us,’ Evie said as the Morris Minor van pulled up outside Oak House, ‘and every time Dad leaves the room, she says something nasty.’

  ‘Well, not nasty, exactly,’ Gertie said. ‘More sly, isn’t it?’

  Celeste nodded. ‘Like the time she said that you were looking well.’

  Evie gave a mad sort of laugh. ‘Yes!’ she cried. ‘She said I suited the extra weight I’d put on.’

  ‘And the time she admired my dress,’ Gertie said, ‘and then went on to say that she wished they’d come in petite so that she could have one too.’

  Celeste gave a knowing smile. ‘I don’t think it’s natural to be as skinny as Simone,’ she said.

  ‘No,’ Evie said. ‘Didn’t she once say that she hated chocolate? How can you trust anyone who doesn’t like chocolate? It’s not natural, is it?’

  ‘It certainly isn’t,’ Celeste said, enjoying the jovial mood between them and wishing it could be like this more often.

  ‘And if she says my fingernails look like a man’s one more time, I swear I’m going to scream,’ Gertie said.

  The sisters laughed together before getting out of the car.

  Oak House was on the edge of a pretty village in what was known as ‘High Suffolk’ – the area to the north-west of the county famous for its rolling countryside. The house itself wasn’t attractive. Or at least it wasn’t attractive to Celeste, who was suspicious of any architecture that came after the Arts and Crafts movement – which this one certainly had.

  She still found it hard to understand how her father could have bought a mock-Tudor house when he had lived in a bona fide medieval home for so many years. She looked up at its black and white gable and couldn’t help wincing at such modernity. It was the same inside, too, with neatly plastered walls and floors that neither sloped nor squeaked. But, then again, Oak House had never known damp or deathwatch beetle and there was never the slightest chance of being cold in the fully insulated rooms with their central heating.

  ‘God, I’d rather spend an afternoon with Esther Martin,’ Gertie said as they approached the front door, which sheltered in a neat little porch where Simone had placed a pot of begonias. Celeste didn’t like begonias. Mainly because they weren’t roses.

  ‘I popped my head in to see if Esther was all right this morning and she nearly bit it off,’ Celeste said.

  ‘I’ve given up on her,’ Gertie said. ‘I’ve tried – I’ve really tried to be nice, but she is the rudest person I’ve ever met.’

  Evie sighed. ‘You can’t blame her for feeling angry at having to leave her home.’

  ‘But it wasn’t really her home,’ Celeste said.

  ‘Well, Grandpa said it was hers for her lifetime,’ Evie said.

  ‘Yes, but it’s easy to make that kind of rash promise when you don’t know what the future holds,’ Celeste said. ‘He wo
uld have done the same thing, I’m sure.’

  ‘Are you?’ Evie said as she pressed the doorbell.

  Celeste glared at her but she didn’t get a chance to reply because the door was opened by their father.

  ‘Girls!’ he cried, opening his arms to embrace them all at once. ‘Come in. Come in! Simone’s been cooking for you all day. Go and give her a kiss.’

  Evie grimaced but felt a hand shoving her in the small of her back, propelling her towards the kitchen.

  The three sisters entered as one.

  ‘Darlings!’ Simone said, without actually turning around or moving to embrace them, which suited the girls just fine.

  ‘Hello, Simone,’ Celeste said in a neutral tone. Gertrude echoed her sister whilst Evie grunted something from behind.

  ‘Something smells marvellous, doesn’t it, girls?’ their father said as he entered the kitchen. ‘What is it, Simmy?’

  ‘Mushroom risotto,’ she said, taking her eye off the pan for a moment and giving him a tight smile. ‘I did tell you, only you never listen.’

  Celeste winced at her father being reprimanded in such a way. He didn’t seem to notice the slight, however, and offered to get everyone a drink.

  ‘Go and sit in the dining room, girls,’ Simone cried.

  ‘She knows I can’t stand mushrooms!’ Evie hissed to her sisters as they left the room. ‘I made that perfectly clear last time when I left that big mountain of them on the side of my plate.’

  ‘She’s probably just forgotten,’ Gertie said.

  ‘Yeah, right!’ Evie said. ‘She just wants to test me. She knows how sweet and polite we are around Dad and she loves to prod us to see how much we can take.’

  They walked down the hallway and Celeste clocked the radiator which was obscured by a lattice-work cover. The television in the living room was similarly hidden behind a fancy door. Nothing was allowed to be what it truly was in this home.

  Five minutes later they were all seated in the dining room, a heap of mushroom risotto on everyone’s plate.

  ‘Are you not hungry, Evelyn?’ Simone asked. ‘Or perhaps you’ve eaten already. You growing girls have such a wonderful appetite, don’t you?’