Victoria Connelly - The Rose Girl

by Unknown

  ‘Thank you,’ Mr Ludkin said. ‘Never said no to a cup of tea.’

  Celeste left them to it and retreated to the kitchen, where she found she was shaking.

  ‘You can get through this,’ she told herself as she grabbed a couple of robust mugs from the cupboard. ‘You’re doing the right thing.’

  Still, she couldn’t help hearing the voice of her mother deep in the recesses of her mind.

  ‘That money can be better spent. You should be putting it into the business – not wasting it on a building.’

  Penelope Hamilton had never really been in love with the manor. She’d only tolerated it as a base for the business, happy to be the beautiful host in a beautiful setting and using the romance of the building and its grounds to charm prospective clients, but she had never cared for it in the same way that her own parents had. It had never quite woven its magic spell upon her, and it had suffered the consequences. Consequences that now had to be dealt with.

  Celeste made the tea, placing the mugs on a tray together with a little bowl of sugar and a jug of milk. She wished that she didn’t have to return to the north wing at all; she wished that she could just hide herself away until the whole horrible business was finished. She hadn’t even thought about what she was going to do with the north wing once it was renovated. It was an enormous space and it would just start to slowly decay once again if it wasn’t used. She thought about all the possibilities. Perhaps they could let it out? Perhaps there would be another Esther Martin who would want to come and live at the manor or perhaps they could open the rooms for bed and breakfast, although that didn’t really appeal to Celeste and might just get in the way once the property was put on the market.

  Anyway, she thought, she didn’t have to make up her mind there and then. There was an awful lot of work to be done before she started thinking about finishing the rooms and expecting people to want to stay in them.

  Returning to the north wing with the tea things, she opened the door into the Room of Doom, where Mr Ludkin and his son were still examining the damage. She put the tray on one of the less rotten windowsills and stood silently watching them as they strode around, touching walls and gazing up at the ceiling and down at the floorboards. She dreaded, absolutely dreaded, what might be going through their minds.

  ‘Mr Ludkin?’ she prodded, unable to bear the suspense any longer.

  He circled the pile of rubble that lay in the middle of the floor, tapping it with the foot of his steel-tipped work boot.

  ‘Well,’ he said a moment later, scratching his head again, ‘I’ve seen worse.’

  ‘I haven’t,’ Tim said.

  ‘What I mean to say is, I’ve seen worse but not with somebody actually living in the house at the time.’

  ‘Well, we’re not living in this actual room,’ Celeste pointed out.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he said with a chuckle.

  ‘And you’ve taken a look at the other rooms and the damp in the corridor?’

  ‘Seen it all before,’ he said. ‘I remember this place well. Been worrying myself about it for years but I’ll give it a proper going-over before we leave and see how much more damage has been done since I was last here.’

  Celeste winced. ‘I’m just glad we can get to work on it now,’ she said. ‘If you’re willing to take the job on, of course. We’d have to see your quote first.’

  Mr Ludkin nodded, slurping his tea as he continued to move around the room, shaking his head here and sucking his teeth there.

  He was at the manor for another hour, taking photographs and making notes and muttering all sorts of horrors to his son. Celeste tried not to listen. She really didn’t want to know. Finally, they were ready to leave.

  ‘I’ll get that quote to you next week,’ Mr Ludkin said. ‘Brace yourself, now.’

  ‘I will,’ Celeste said, watching as the two men got into the van and drove away.

  Gertie was walking across the lawn, a basket of eggs in her hand.

  ‘Was that Ludkin and Son?’ she asked.

  Celeste nodded. ‘Yes. I’ve just shown him the north wing.’

  ‘What did he say?’ Gertie asked.

  ‘He shook his head a lot, sucked his teeth and told me to brace myself for his quote.’

  ‘Well, as long as we’ve got enough in the pot from the sale of the paintings,’ Gertie said.

  Celeste sighed. ‘Let’s just hope we will have!’

  18.

  Celeste wasn’t sure what exactly had woken her but she was only glad that it wasn’t the sound of a ceiling collapsing somewhere within the depths of the house. She lay still, staring into the darkness of her room before switching her bedside lamp on. Warm light flooded the room and revealed Frinton at the bottom of the bed, softly snoring, his little furry body giving him the appearance of a soft toy. Moving carefully so as not to disturb him, Celeste got up and checked her clock. It was just after two.

  She made her way downstairs with the intention of making a cup of herbal tea. It wasn’t until she was in the hallway that she was quite sure she wasn’t the only one up in the middle of the night. There was somebody in the kitchen.

  Celeste sighed, immediately knowing who it was and realising that it meant trouble. Sure enough, the light was on and the sound of somebody moving about could be heard.

  One of Gertie’s great pleasures in life was baking but, when it happened in the middle of the night, it was a sure indication that she was stressed. The sight of her sister in her dressing gown, banging ceramic bowls around in the kitchen, instantly told Celeste that something was wrong.

  ‘Gertie?’ she said, hovering in the doorway as if testing to see if it was safe to enter the room. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Making scones,’ her sister replied without turning around. Celeste saw that there were already two batches of fruit scones fresh from the Aga and, judging by the delicious smell, a third was well on its way.

  ‘Can I come in?’

  Gertie nodded and Celeste made her way towards the kettle.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘No thank you,’ Gertie said. ‘Would you like a scone?’

  Celeste smiled. ‘I have never been able to refuse one of your scones no matter what time of the day or night it is.’

  Gertie took a plate out of the cupboard and Celeste watched as she cut open a warm scone and buttered it, bringing it to the table a moment later.

  ‘Aren’t you having one?’ Celeste asked.

  Gertie shook her head. ‘I couldn’t.’

  ‘Want to talk?’

  ‘No. I want to bake.’ She walked back towards the Aga and lifted out the last batch of scones. There were few more pleasurable experiences than sitting in a kitchen filled with the cosy warmth of an Aga – especially an Aga that had just cooked over thirty fruit scones – but although it was a great treat to be eating one of Gertie’s scones, Celeste knew in her heart that there was a problem to be addressed.

  ‘Gertie,’ she said, her voice low but firm. ‘Sit down.’

  Her sister stopped what she was doing and turned around. Celeste saw that her face was quite red and she didn’t expect that it was just from the heat of the Aga.

  ‘Come and talk to me,’ she said a moment later when Gertie hadn’t moved. Finally, her sister joined her at the table.

  ‘Is the scone all right?’

  ‘The scone is perfect,’ Celeste said, ‘but I don’t want to talk about scones.’

  Gertie looked down at her hands under the table, where Celeste knew that she was picking at her nails.

  ‘It’s a man, isn’t it?’ Celeste said and Gertie nodded. ‘Is it a man I know?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘I don’t know. You tell me.’

  ‘I’d rather not.’

  ‘What’s going on? What’s making you so unhappy?’

  Gertie swallowed hard and her dark eyes misted with tears. ‘I’m in love with him.’

  ‘That shouldn’t make y
ou miserable,’ Celeste said.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Then what’s happened?’

  ‘He doesn’t call me when he says he will and I hardly get to see him,’ she said, her voice subdued.

  ‘Was it him you were with in Cambridge?’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘A wild guess?’ Celeste said, a wry eyebrow raised.

  ‘It’s the longest we’ve ever spent together,’ she said, ‘and it was wonderful.’

  ‘So, why can’t it be like at all the time? Is he a workaholic?’

  Gertie gave a little snort but didn’t answer the question.

  ‘Gertie? What’s stopping him from seeing you?’

  The silence that filled the room was palpable and neither sister spoke.

  ‘Gertie?’ Celeste pressed, anxiety weighing her down. ‘Tell me.’

  Gertie looked across the table at her and Celeste feared that she knew what she was about to say, only she didn’t get a chance.

  ‘What on earth is going on?’ Esther barked from the door, making both the sisters jump. ‘I can’t get to sleep for the racket you girls are making.’

  Gertie leapt up from the table and Celeste knew that the moment was lost.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Martin,’ she said. ‘We didn’t mean to disturb you.’

  ‘What you are both doing up at this time when good people are trying to sleep?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Celeste said. ‘We’re both going back to bed. Come on. I’ll walk you back to your room.’ She turned to try and catch Gertie’s eye but her sister’s back was to her. Their conversation would have to take place at another time.

  Gertie did a pretty good job of avoiding Celeste over the next few days, which wasn’t hard in a house the size of Little Eleigh Manor with its accompanying acres of garden. It had always been the perfect place to lose yourself if you needed to, as Celeste had discovered growing up. Sometimes, when life and family became too much, she would find a little corner in a panelled room or a leafy arbour in the rose garden and tuck herself away until she felt strong enough to come out again. Perhaps that’s what Gertie had been doing, Celeste thought, imagining her sister taking her work to some quiet corner of the estate where she wouldn’t be subject to her big sister’s questions.

  Celeste couldn’t help but worry about her. Had she been about to open up to her the other night in the kitchen before Esther Martin had barged in? Celeste had the feeling that she might well have been and it pained her that Gertie was carrying around this great hurt on her own. But she couldn’t force her to tell her what was going on, could she? Gertie knew where to find her if she wanted to talk. As much as she wanted to, Celeste couldn’t deny the fact that she hadn’t been there for her sisters over the last few years. Evie was probably never going to forgive her for that, Celeste thought, and she was probably in the right. Celeste would never really understand what Gertie and Evie had gone through in the last months of their mother’s life. She could only just begin to imagine what it must have been like.

  ‘But I couldn’t have been there,’ she told herself. She’d been telling herself that over and over again since Penelope had died, but there was that tiny element of doubt sitting in her heart. Could she have made it good with her mother at the end? She sincerely doubted it but perhaps she should have at least tried.

  Tears of frustration filled her eyes and she blinked them away, cursing the impossible situation she found herself in: she should have been there but she couldn’t possibly have been there.

  Would she ever be free of the overwhelming sense of guilt that she’d let her sisters down? They’d needed her – not just in her capacity as a good administrator to keep the office in check but as a fellow sister to talk to and to take comfort from when things got rough. Even if she hadn’t been able to make things right with Penelope, she should have been there all the same – for Gertie and Evie.

  ‘I failed them,’ she said to herself. ‘But I can put that right now. I’m here for them now.’

  It was a long overdue bill and a spot of grocery shopping that took Celeste into Lavenham on Saturday morning. She’d found the outstanding invoice from the printing company they used for all their cards and stationery and thought that an apology in person was as overdue as the actual money. So she’d driven in, parked on the hill by the church and walked into town, passing the rows of timber-framed buildings that leaned forwards and sideways at the most alarming angles and attracted hordes of tourists in the summer months.

  She was just passing a cafe when she saw him.

  ‘Julian?’ she said.

  ‘Celeste!’ he cried, a surprised smile on his face.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, looking at the vacant shop he’d just walked out of.

  ‘I’ve been checking out a few properties, remember?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘For your antiques?’ She looked at the little shop with the bay window. ‘Any good?’

  ‘Too small,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t fit half what I wanted in there.’

  ‘Really? You plan to have a lot of stock, then?’

  ‘No point in doing things by halves, is there?’ he said, his blue eyes bright with excitement.

  ‘I suppose not,’ she said.

  ‘It’s good to see you,’ he said. ‘Are you keeping well?’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ she said.

  ‘And your sisters?’

  ‘Very well,’ she said.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘I often think about you all in that moated manor house of yours.’

  ‘You do?’

  He nodded. ‘And I was going to give you a call about the Fantin-Latour,’ he said. ‘I might have some –’

  ‘Julian?’ a voice interrupted them from behind Celeste.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Miles,’ Julian said. ‘I lost you.’

  ‘Sorry,’ the man said. ‘I had to take a call.’ He slipped his mobile into his jacket pocket.

  ‘Celeste,’ Julian said, ‘this is my brother, Miles.’

  ‘Well,’ Miles said, taking hold of Celeste’s hand and shaking it, a huge smile on his face. ‘So you’re the real reason why my little brother’s been spending so much time in Suffolk, are you?’

  Celeste felt her face heat up at the suggestion and saw that Julian’s had coloured up too.

  ‘Celeste is a client,’ Julian told him.

  ‘Is that what they’re calling it these days?’ He gave a laugh and winked at Celeste.

  Celeste looked up at him. He was taller and broader than Julian but his features were similar and he had the same dark red hair. But there was something intrinsically different about him that Celeste couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  ‘Let me help you with those bags,’ Miles said, nodding to the two carriers she was holding in her left hand.

  ‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘It’s quite all right. I haven’t got far to go.’

  But Miles had already taken them off her. ‘Where are you parked?’

  ‘Up by the church,’ she said, and the three of them walked up the hill together.

  ‘I didn’t realise Suffolk was so full of beautiful women,’ Miles said, grinning at Celeste as they walked.

  ‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ Celeste said, trying to catch Julian’s eye, but he was looking resolutely ahead.

  ‘You never thought of leaving Suffolk for life in the big city?’ Miles asked her.

  ‘No, never,’ Celeste said honestly.

  ‘I could show you all the best places London has to offer,’ he said. ‘I know them all. Restaurants, clubs, theatres – we could have a lot of fun.’

  Celeste couldn’t help but smile as Miles cocked his head to one side to gauge her response.

  ‘Not tempted?’ he asked.

  ‘Not really,’ she said as they reached her car.

  ‘You don’t know what you’re missing,’ he said in a sing-song voice.

  Celeste shook her head in amusement. ‘Thanks for carrying my bags,’ she s
aid.

  ‘No problem,’ he said. ‘That’s what these muscles are for.’

  Celeste looked surprised by his declaration.

  ‘You don’t work out, do you, Julian?’ Miles continued, turning to his brother after placing the shopping bags on the back seat of Celeste’s Morris Minor.

  ‘You know I don’t,’ Julian said. ‘I much prefer walking to sweating at a gym.’

  ‘Yes, but walking doesn’t build your muscles up – and the ladies all love muscles!’ Miles said. ‘I work out four times a week – sometimes more.’

  Celeste looked at Julian as if to ask him how the conversation had veered so strangely but he simply shook his head.

  ‘We have a gym in our building with all the latest top-of-the-range equipment,’ Miles went on, seemingly oblivious to the thoughts of his companions. ‘It’s superb. Of course, I’m the fittest man there. Even the youngsters can’t keep up with the pace I set. Just feel these biceps, Celeste.’

  Celeste did a double take. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Go on! Feel them,’ he said, taking his jacket off.

  ‘She really doesn’t want to feel your muscles, Miles,’ Julian said.

  ‘Nonsense! Every woman wants to feel my muscles.

  ‘I think I’ll pass,’ Celeste said, completely baffled by Miles’s behaviour.

  Miles frowned. ‘You’re missing a treat. The number of women who’d like to get their hands on my body!’ He made an odd spluttering sound and Celeste caught Julian’s eye again. Julian simply raised his to the sky.

  ‘I think I’d better get going,’ Celeste said, turning to leave.

  ‘You see, Jules,’ Miles said, ‘you’ve always had a knack of chasing the women away.’

  ‘We’d better get going too, eh, Miles?’

  ‘You always take pleasure in embarrassing me, don’t you?’ Miles suddenly said.

  ‘I don’t do any such thing,’ Julian said calmly.

  ‘Yes! Yes you do,’ Miles continued, his smile now replaced with a deeply engraved scowl.