Camellia (60 page)

'Would you have concentrated on your acting if I had?' Magnus retorted. 'No you wouldn't, you'd have been up at the film company's offices making a nuisance of yourself.'

Nick's anger left as quickly as it had come. His father was right of course. 'Well, come on, out with the rest of it!'

'When you were last here I'd just written to her. I didn't expect a reply – I thought the letter to MGM studios wouldn't even reach her. But I wrote anyway and invited her to stay here while she's in England.'

'She accepted? You mean it's definite?'

'Yes, first I got a letter from her secretary thanking me for the offer, the usual stuff: Miss Forester would be in touch etc. But yesterday I got her personal letter. Shall I read it to you?'

Nick could hardly contain himself. 'Go on,' he said, perching on the arm of a chair.

'Dearest Magnus,' his father read. 'What a delightful surprise to hear from you after all these years. I've often thought about you and wondered where you ended up, just as I have wondered about so many people I knew back in those postwar years.

'I was so sorry to hear about your wife's death, but heartened to hear your children have all done so well for themselves. That must be a consolation to you.

'I'd be more than happy to take you up on your invitation, at least for a night or two while I get adjusted to being back in England and find a suitable house. Your hotel sounds and looks idyllic from the brochure you enclosed, and I know I can count on you to be discreet. It will be so good to talk over old times. I don't often get excited these days, but I am thrilled at the thought of seeing you and England again after so many years away. My secretary will be in touch to make the arrangements.

'Until then, yours affectionately Helena.'

Nick gave a long low whistle. 'That's great Dad. Are you sure she wasn't an old flame too?'

'Quite sure,' Magnus laughed softly. 'You do understand we have to keep this under our hats?'

'Of course,' Nick replied. 'Will you let me know when she's coming so I can get down there?'

Magnus hesitated. 'I think it would be better for me to see her alone first,' he said slowly, as if he'd been churning things over in his mind. 'For one thing we don't want to intimidate her, and for another we don't want her thinking I want a leg up for my actor son.'

Nick was disappointed at not meeting the famous actress, but he kept it to himself. 'How's the rockery looking?' he asked instead.

'Finished.' He could almost see his father smiling. 'I got the pump sorted out. The waterfall works perfectly now and the plants are plumping up beautifully. It changes that whole part of the garden. But what about you, Nick, how did the film go?'

'I thought you were never going to ask. Absolutely marvellous. I think things might work out for me at last, but right now I'm cleaning up my flat. Let me know when Helena's coming won't you?'

'I'll let you get back to your chores,' Magnus's voice grew a little husky. 'I'm proud of you, son.'

The night before Helena's arrival, Magnus began to get nervous. Everything was in readiness: the menus planned, the staff informed who the important guest was. They had always prided themselves on giving their guests privacy, but in this case Magnus had to be sure no leak came from his end. Only two other couples were staying. The London barrister and his wife were too well-connected themselves to be unduly excited if they discovered the 'old family friend' was an actress, and the two Australian botanists had spent so much time in remote parts of the world they probably wouldn't know the Queen if she walked in.

Magnus downed a large whisky in the bar, said goodnight to the staff and made his way upstairs.

He was putting Helena in the Blue Room and on an impulse he went in to check everything. It was in fact a suite, the one he always gave to special guests. Until Ruth died, it had been his and Ruth's private rooms.

As he stood on the pale blue carpet a shiver ran down his spine – not an unpleasant sensation, just a gentle reminder of Ruth, for she'd loved this room so much. He could see her now, small and plump with wavy brown hair, sitting sewing on the window seat, constantly looking out at the view she never tired of.

Despite redecoration and new furniture, Magnus had kept the essence of Ruth's original scheme. She had chosen blue as the dominant colour because it faced south. In winter the two small settees in smudgy pink and blue sateen flanked the gracious Adam fireplace, and the matching curtains were replaced with heavy dusky pink velvet. But now the settees sat by the windows, the fireplace was filled with a huge jug of fresh flowers, the cooler, lighter curtains in place. Ruth's dainty Edwardian writing bureau was still here, no longer overflowing with menus, diaries and odd bits of mending, but filled instead with a selection of writing paper, booklets about the West Country and a telephone.

Once a Welsh dresser had stood on his right, laden with bits of bric-a-brac. In those days the blue walls were a mere backdrop for pictures and photographs, a room cluttered with mementos of the past. All the clutter was long since cleared, taken away by Sophie and Stephen in silent disapproval that Magnus no longer wanted it. How could he explain to them that he felt Ruth's presence even more strongly after her death than he had during her life? Those items she arranged so carefully were nothing more than milestones in their life together and unnecessary now. He could look back over their years together in one glorious long sweep, like the view from the window. He didn't need reminders of anything; it was engraved on his heart and mind for all time.

The room was perfection now, from the handprinted silk paper on the walls, to white bone-china doves sitting on the mantelpiece. He knew Ruth would approve.

Magnus opened the window wide and leaned out. The night air felt like a lover's warm kiss on his cheeks. He could hear an owl somewhere in the distance and closer the splashing of the fountain round the side of the house. Earlier tonight people had been sitting out on the terrace. Many of them had stayed there until it was dark, lingering over their drinks, enjoying one of those rare almost Mediterranean summer nights. He had seen couples strolling arm in arm down across the lawns, and he was glad to see there were still romantics who liked to look at starry skies, to feel damp grass beneath bare feet and kiss in the seclusion of a beautiful garden.

He had found Mel looking out this window one evening in her first summer here. The room was free at the time and for some reason he had imagined it was a burglar. He had crept in silently, without turning on the light.

She was leaning out the window, just as he was doing now. He stood for a moment before speaking, but then he realised she was crying. She didn't hear him walk across the thick carpet, and she jumped in surprise when he put his hand on her shoulder.

'What is it, Mel?' he asked. 'Why are you crying in here?'

He couldn't see her face clearly, but there was enough light to reflect on the tears on her cheeks. 'Because it's so beautiful,' she said.

'So why cry?' He put one finger under her chin and lifted her face up. Her eyes were mere slits in a white face.

'It's just that I don't think I belong anywhere as beautiful as this,' she said. 'Every day I wake up feeling brand new, like everything that went before was a bad dream. But late at night like this I get to thinking
this
is the dream and that tomorrow I'll find it gone.'

He put his arms round her and let her cry on his shoulder. With hindsight he felt he should have done more.

Why hadn't he questioned her that night, and dug until he got at the whole truth?

He already trusted her to take cash to the bank, he had begun to involve her more and more in the running of the hotel, he valued her assistance out in the grounds in the afternoons, and she helped him there even though it was her free time. Looking back he couldn't understand why he hadn't been suspicious of such a perfect employee. She watched Antoine cooking and read books on food and wine. She studied the bar, the flower arrangements, everything and anything, all the time asking questions. When she went out it was just to walk. She was friendly and helpful to his guests, but never overly familiar.

He got into the habit of confiding in her, about guests, plans for the hotel, even things about Ruth and his children. She was so interested in him; she filled a part of his life that had been empty for too long. Then when she first met Nick and he sensed the current between them, he was overjoyed. If only he'd stopped to consider then why Mel held Nick at arm's length, instead of lapsing into daydreams about a big white wedding, and grandchildren playing in the grounds.

What a blind and stupid fool he was!

Magnus closed the window, then went over to the bedroom. Mel had chosen the material for the cover on the four-poster bed, deep-sea blues and greens. He remembered how fussy she was about this suite and the bed: the cover had to be just so, smoothed to perfection, just touching the carpet on both sides, the pillows folded into it with precision.

'Oh Ruth,' he murmured, picking up a small pressed flower picture from the dressing table that she had made. 'Where do I go from here?'

'Magnus,' Jayne Sullivan called him from the bottom of the stairs, her voice as crisp as the starched white shirts she always wore. 'The car's just pulling in, it's her!'

It was four o'clock, yet it seemed to Magnus as he hurried down the stairs that it ought to be nearer ten at night. He'd been unable to sleep the previous night and had got up soon after six, working in the garden all morning to take his mind off Helena and the images of Bonny she was bringing back.

As he stepped out the front door to greet her, the chauffeur opened the back door of the grey Daimler. A glimpse of dark glossy hair, one slim leg stretched out and the years slipped away.

'Ellie!' he called out and strode across the gravel drive, arms outstretched. 'It's so good to see you!'

She looked every inch a star, and far younger than the forty-seven he knew her to be: big dark eyes, skin as taut as a young girl's and black waves rippling down onto the shoulders of a white suit.

'Magnus, you old devil.' She ran to meet him. 'You look so bloody marvellous!'

Later as he had tea with her in her room he saw she hadn't quite halted the years. Her movements were a little slower, and on closer inspection there were tiny lines around her eyes. There was just the faintest suggestion of a double chin, and she didn't laugh quite so readily as he remembered.

The first time he'd seen her in that theatre in Oxford, he remembered likening her face to a pansy, yet those huge dark eyes had been full of fire then. Now they spoke of sadness. Even when he told her humorous stories about starting the hotel, he felt she was holding back, or worse had forgotten how to laugh from the belly the way she once did. She even reprimanded him for calling her Ellie, saying she'd left that name behind a great many years ago.

'Are we going to skirt round all the delicate areas?' she said suddenly. 'We can't talk about the old days without mentioning her name!'

Magnus blushed. They had been speaking for almost an hour, about his hotel, her films, his wife and children, yet he hadn't been able to bring himself to go further. She didn't invite confidences now, the way she had years ago. Her voice still had that same, deep husky quality, but there were overtones of an American accent and a different, much more brusque manner about her. 'I didn't like to,' he said. 'You know of course that she died?'

The colour drained from her face so fast Magnus thought she was going to faint.

'I'm so sorry,' Magnus got up from his seat and went to sit beside her on her settee, taking her hand in his and squeezing it. 'How tactless of me. I thought you must know.'

'I didn't,' she said weakly. 'It's such a shock. When did this happen?'

'In 1965.'

'But Camellia! She would only be fifteen then. Oh Magnus, how terrible. How did John take it? He must have been torn apart – he loved Bonny so much.'

Magnus's heart began to beat alarmingly fast. 'John died years before,' he said. 'I thought you'd know that.'

'Oh no.' Her hands flew up to her face. 'When, how? Oh Magnus, tell me?'

Magnus explained, and to his surprise Helena began to cry. 'I can't bear it,' she sobbed, her tears making her mascara run. 'Why didn't Bonny write and tell me about John? And that poor little love on her own. Why didn't you write and tell me?'

'I didn't know myself until last year,' Magnus said.

From the shock and distress on her face it was clear that Helena hadn't hardened her heart to Bonny. He passed on the information about both John's and Bonny's deaths almost as if he'd read of them in a newspaper. He couldn't possibly explain
now,
how he had learned of them, or tell her any of the more recent events.

'Can you leave me?' she said shakily when he'd finished. 'It's been an awful shock. I need time to rest.'

Magnus needed to rest himself, he felt drained. It would give him time to consider how he was going to broach the rest of his news and questions. 'Would you like dinner downstairs?' he asked. 'Or would you like to dine with me in my room.'

'With you, please,' she replied, her eyes still full of tears. 'I don't think I'm up to meeting your other guests.'

She was very pale and Magnus was worried about her. 'Would you like some brandy?' he asked.

She shook her head. 'I don't drink any more, Magnus.'

'Don't be afraid to ring down to reception if you need anything,' Magnus said as he left the room. 'I'll see you at dinner.'

As Magnus went along to his room, he wondered about that 'I don't drink any more'. It sounded almost as if she'd had a problem with drinking. Could that be the reason she'd faded from the public eye in the last ten years?

He couldn't imagine the Ellie he knew becoming an alcoholic, she was too strong willed, and she had left England with the world at her feet. Was it possible that fame and fortune hadn't brought her happiness after all?

It was half past seven when Helena knocked at his door. Her nap seemed to have restored her and she looked breathtakingly beautiful in a loose-fitting long purple gown, cut low at the front to reveal voluptuous cleavage. The purple enhanced her sultry colouring and gave her a regal appearance.