Second Thyme Around (32 page)

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Authors: Katie Fforde

Tags: #Fiction, #Contemporary Women

BOOK: Second Thyme Around
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She rushed out to greet them.
‘Darling!’
Her mother’s familiar-smelling kiss nearly undid Perdita. She hugged her hard, clinging in a way she hadn’t clung since boarding school days.
‘Are you all right? You look exhausted! And what have you done to your hair? It suits you.’
Her father hugged her just as hard. ‘How’s my brave girl?’
‘Not very brave at the moment, but coping. Come into the kitchen and meet Thomas. I don’t suppose you’ve had lunch.’
‘Only a stale baguette on the train down,’ said her father.
‘Then come on through and see what Thomas has got for us. I’ll organise a drink.’
On the table was a whole poached salmon, potato salad, green salad, and a salad of fine green beans and salted almonds.
‘Oh, Thomas!’ said Perdita, who’d been expecting bread and cheese, and with luck, soup. ‘You’ve excelled yourself.’
‘No I haven’t. Lucas sent this over.’
‘Lucas!’ said her parents, practically in unison.
Perdita debated for a second if she should have warned Thomas not to mention Lucas in front of her parents, but it might have been awkward for him.
‘He’s been wonderful since Kitty died,’ said Perdita.
‘He was pretty wonderful when she was alive,’ said Thomas. ‘Reading to her, sitting with her during my time off, taking her to the lav and everything.’
Lucas assisting an old lady to the lavatory was hard to imagine, even for Perdita, who’d seen it happen. Her parents visibly struggled with the idea and regarded her accusingly.
‘Didn’t I mention how good he’d been?’ she said. ‘Well, never mind. He’s been fab. And this is Thomas, Thomas Hallam, just as fab but not as awkward. Thomas, my parents, Mr and Mrs Dylan.’
‘How do?’ said Thomas. ‘Now, wine everybody? Or there’s sherry? Unless anyone wants anything stronger?’
Perdita’s mother looked a little askance at the paid help making free with Kitty’s drinks cupboard, but when her husband said, ‘I must say, I could murder a gin and tonic,’ she agreed that so could she.
‘I’ll do it,’ said Perdita. ‘Thomas showed me how to make them like they do at sea.’
‘I’ll just go up and wash my hands,’ said Perdita’s mother. ‘Come up and talk to me when you’ve mixed the drinks.’
Knowing her mother wanted to disapprove of Thomas and Lucas
in absentia,
Perdita took her time sorting out ice and lemon, and found her father some cashew nuts to keep him going until he’d be allowed at the salmon.
‘Well, this is very nice,’ said her father, settled on the sofa in the sitting room. ‘Tell your mother not to be too long. I’m hungry.’
 
Perdita had brought drinks up for them both when she
joined her mother in Kitty’s bedroom. Her mother was crouched in front of the dressing table, trying to see her reflection in the mirror.
‘Here you are, Mum. This’ll make you feel better.’ She took a fortifying sip of her drink which was strong, even by Thomas’s standards. ‘By the way, I thought you and Daddy would be happier in my house. It’s going to be a bit chaotic here, as we’ll have to offer beds to the other two carers, at least, possibly the Ledham-Golds, and I’m not sure who else. You’ll have a bit of peace and quiet over there.’
‘I think it would be much better if you had the peace and quiet, and we were on the spot to organise things. You really don’t have to have everyone to stay, you know. People don’t expect it.’
Another sip of gin and tonic and Perdita said, ‘No, I really need to be on hand to keep an eye on things. There’s a lot to organise.’
Felicity Dylan sat on the bed and took a sip of her drink. She raised her eyebrows as the gin hit her, and peered at Perdita. ‘But, darling, we’ve come to do all that.’
Perdita shook her head. ‘It’s lovely of you, really, but I’ve started this, and it’s easier for me to finish it. And don’t get too comfortable up here. Daddy says he’s starving.’
‘He can’t be. Besides, I must have a few words with you alone. How are you? I suppose you’ve closed down the business for a bit? People will understand.’
‘Oh, no. I can’t do that. I get up early and sort it out for the day, and go over again in the evening if I’ve got the chance.’
‘No wonder you’re looking so exhausted.’ She opened her mouth to say something else, but changed her mind. ‘Tell me about Thomas. He seems quite one of the family.’
‘Oh, he is,’ said Perdita firmly. ‘He was with me when
Kitty died and is staying on as long as I feel I need him. Probably just till after the funeral.’
‘And you’re paying him?’
‘Of course! He cancelled one of his regular clients for me. He’s great. He cooks all the meals, answers the telephone and has helped me move all the furniture back as it was. Come and see.’ She stood up, hoping her mother would do the same.
‘Just one minute, darling. What about Kitty’s nephew, Roger? Is he coming to the funeral?’
Perdita gripped her glass. ‘I’ve no idea. I can’t stop him, I suppose, but he certainly won’t be particularly welcome.’
‘Why on earth not? He seemed perfectly pleasant on the phone.’
Perdita couldn’t take any more of Roger’s so-called pleasantness. ‘Oh, he’s pleasant, all right, it’s just that he’s after Kitty’s money and property, including the bit I’ve got my tunnels on.’
It was a moment before Perdita’s mother took in what her daughter had said. ‘Oh my God! Oh, darling! What have I done? I never would have found him if I’d known.’
‘It’s all right, Mummy! There’s no need to panic! We don’t know he’s got Kitty to change her will, and if he has, well, it’s too late to worry about it now.’
‘We could contest the will – do something!’
‘Only when we know what the will says. Until then, I’d really rather not talk about it.’
Perdita’s mother took some time to be persuaded that this was the best course, but eventually she said, ‘Very well, darling. If that’s the way you feel, but I must say I wouldn’t have thought—’
‘Mum, please!’
‘OK, tell me about Lucas. I mean, I know you did the television thing together – and I do hope you videoed it – but it must have been awkward for you, to have him insinuate himself into the household, bringing meals and
things.’ She frowned. ‘Looking after Kitty.’
Perdita shut her eyes briefly, trying not to let the gin reveal her anger. ‘Lucas does not insinuate,’ she said tensely. ‘He loved Kitty. He used to read to her, and talk about books to her, books that I’ve never got round to reading. When she was in hospital he made special meals for her, so she wouldn’t have to eat hospital food. He did the same when we had carers who couldn’t cook. He’s been so supportive, and brilliant.’
Perdita’s mother regarded her daughter, a little startled. ‘He must have changed an awful lot since I last saw him, then.’
Perdita was suddenly aghast at her outburst. ‘I’m sorry. I was forgetting that you hadn’t seen him since—’
‘Your wedding.’
‘And he has changed. A lot, really. I didn’t notice at first, because superficially he’s just the same. Bad-tempered and difficult. But underneath that, he’s kindness itself. At least, he was to Kitty.’
‘And what about you?’
She sighed, and drank some more gin. ‘He’s been pretty kind to me too.’
Her mother’s mouth crinkled with anxiety. ‘Darling, he’s not – you know …’ She struggled for the right words. ‘Coming on to you, is he?’
Perdita laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve no intention in getting involved with him again. He’s just been a kind friend, that’s all.’ Realising she’d been a little economical with the truth, she finished her drink.
Felicity Dylan delicately rubbed the corner of her mouth with a fingertip. ‘You’ve grown up such a lot since I last saw you, darling.’
‘I’m sure I have. Death is a very growing-up experience. And I needed to grow up.’
Her mother got to her feet and patted her daughter’s hand. ‘You’ve turned into a woman, all of a sudden.’
‘About time too, Mum! I’m nearly thirty! And I’m sorry if I seemed a bit snappy. I am a bit preoccupied with everything.’
‘Don’t worry about it, darling, and don’t forget, we’re here now.’ She hesitated. ‘We’ll help you with anything you want.’
Perdita kissed her mother’s cheek. ‘Thank you for being so understanding.’
‘I can be, you know,’ said her mother. ‘Now, let’s go down before your father’s low blood sugar makes him bad-tempered.
 
After lunch, for which Perdita insisted Thomas sat and joined them, she took her parents over to her cottage to settle in and have a little lie-down. She wandered back to Kitty’s house, aware that she was swaying a bit.
‘I must have had too much to drink. Those G and Ts were a bit strong.’
Thomas took a quick look at her, removed the crystal glass she was drying from her hand and sent her upstairs for a nap, ignoring her protests that she couldn’t possibly sleep. ‘Just go up and listen to
The Archers
with your eyes shut. When it’s over, you can come down again. Here, I’ll make you a hot-water bottle.’
As she was hustled up the stairs, bottle under her arm, she realised why Thomas made such a good carer. He could tell what was wrong with people better than they could themselves.
When she came down again, it was tea-time, and her parents were in the sitting room. Sitting with them was Lucas.
‘Oh. Hi, everyone,’ said Perdita, scanning faces for signs of disharmony. ‘Sorry, I’ve been asleep.’
Lucas, who had got up, came over to her. ‘We can tell: you’re hair’s sticking up at the back.’ He smoothed it down for her.
‘I’d better go and brush it,’ said Perdita, wanting a chance to interpret this tender gesture, and to ask Thomas if everyone was getting on OK, or had she walked into a scene of battle. Reluctantly, Lucas allowed her to leave, and she fled to the kitchen.
‘What’s Lucas doing here?’ she demanded from Thomas. ‘And are they getting on?’
‘I think so,’ said Thomas, who’d found cups with matching saucers and was putting them on a tray. ‘Why shouldn’t they?’
Perdita exhaled loudly. ‘They didn’t like him while we were married, and hated him afterwards. I did tell you Lucas and I were once married? They think he’s the arch enemy, and to be fair to them, so did I until I got to know him again.’
‘I see. Did he hit you, or anything?’
‘No. He just ran off with an older woman.’
He closed his hand round a cup and it broke into pieces. ‘Perdita! I’m so sorry! Whatever made me do that?’
‘I don’t know. But don’t worry about it. We’ve got plenty more cups.’
‘Not of that particular tea set.’
‘I still don’t mind. Don’t cry over anything that can’t cry over you.’ Suddenly Perdita was reminded that she hadn’t yet managed to cry over Kitty. Perhaps she never would, perhaps she had used up all her tears crying at processions, the Deaths column in the newspaper, and vet programmes on television.
‘So you don’t think you and Lucas will get back together again?’
‘No. We separated on very bad terms. We couldn’t possibly get together again.’ It was only later she noticed that for the first time, she hadn’t put all the blame on Lucas.
‘But he so obviously—’
‘Who does what obviously?’ asked Lucas, who
wandered into the kitchen. ‘Where’s the tea? I can’t go on making polite conversation any longer.’
‘Never mind, I’m sure my parents will have been impressed by just a couple of minutes,’ said Perdita.
‘It’s been twenty at least, and you still haven’t brushed your hair.’
Perdita made a face. ‘Take the tray, and I’ll go and do it. Are you joining us, Thomas?’
‘Not likely. I’m going to get this larder sorted before your mother finds the tins of bully beef, left over from the war.’
Perdita stopped on her way to the cloakroom. ‘Not really? Oh, you’re joking.’
 
 
‘I just came over to check the details of the food,’ said Lucas. He handed Perdita a menu. ‘Is there anything else you think we should have?’
‘Looks fine to me.’ Perdita passed the menu to her mother, who produced her reading glasses from her bag and examined the card.
Perdita’s mother frowned. ‘It seems very lavish for a funeral. What’s wrong with sandwiches and fruitcake?’
‘One of your fruitcakes would be nice,’ said Perdita, ‘if you had time to make one. But Kitty was always very sniffy about the food at funerals. She said she wanted proper party food. But substantial, so people don’t have to drive miles back home after only a couple of bits of soggy bread and butter wrapped round tinned asparagus.’
‘I can hear her saying it,’ said Perdita’s father. ‘I dare say you’ll have to serve whisky, as well.’
‘And champagne,’ acknowledged Perdita. ‘She didn’t tell me much about what she wanted, but did want decent champagne and whisky.’
‘And tea, I hope,’ said her mother. ‘With the funeral at two, people will be wanting tea, not alcohol.’
‘We’re having tea, too. Thomas and I have sorted out dozens of cups and saucers. Kitty used to get them from jumble sales to use when she opened the garden to the public.’
‘What about the flowers? Have you got a decent florist around here?’
‘Well,’ Perdita braced herself. ‘I put “Home-grown
flowers only” in the announcement, because that was another thing Kitty felt strongly about – people spending money on things no one really gets to appreciate. I’m doing the flowers for the coffin, and the vicar’s best church flower lady – can’t remember her name just now – is going to do the ones in the church.’
‘Darling, I don’t want to be unkind, but the flowers are rather important. You don’t want it to look amateurish.’
‘Oh, I know,’ said Perdita. ‘But I’m still going to do them. Apparently flowers for a coffin cost about seventy-five pounds. Kitty would hate that.’
Perdita’s mother sighed deeply and opened her mouth to protest some more.
‘Well, I think that menu will be fine,’ said Lucas, quickly, before she could. ‘But a good home-made fruitcake would just finish it off, for people who want something more traditional. Would you have time to make one, Mrs Dylan?’
Perdita’s mother turned to him. ‘Well of course, if you think it would go down well,’ she said, ‘I’d be only too happy.’
‘That would be brilliant, Mum,’ said Perdita. ‘At school your fruitcakes were what kept me alive. The food was terrible.’
‘Which explains your lack of interest in it today?’ said Lucas.
‘Probably,’ said Perdita, whose mind had moved on. ‘For fruitcake, Mum, does it matter if the fruit is a bit old? It’s just that Kitty’s had cupboards of it for years. Does it go off?’
A couple of pained seconds later, Lucas answered.
‘I’ll bring you round some dried fruit, Mrs Dylan. Perdita, give Kitty’s old fruit to the birds. They’ll appreciate it, and won’t sue if it gives them food poisoning.’
‘Thank you, Lucas,’ said Perdita’s mother, who hadn’t
been able to stand Kitty’s notions of economy when she was alive, and wasn’t sure she could do so now she was dead.
‘For someone who hated waste, Kitty was a dreadful stockpiler,’ said Lucas.
Perdita’s parents waited for their daughter to fly at Lucas for daring to criticise her beloved Kitty.
She didn’t. ‘It must have been something to do with the war. She always wanted to be able to feed an army if she had to.’
‘I’d still be grateful if I didn’t have to use ten-year-old fruit for my cake,’ said Perdita’s mother somewhat tensely.
 
Perdita still hadn’t cried by the morning of the funeral. She got up at five to finish the flower arrangement for the coffin. When she finally came in from the old stable where she was doing the flowers, partly so they would be out of the way and cool, and partly so her mother wouldn’t discover that Perdita had been using all Kitty’s crumbling old oasis and bits of chicken wire as a base, she found her parents in the kitchen. They looked smart and businesslike in their funeral clothes.
‘We thought we’d come over early to give you a hand,’ said her mother. ‘What are you going to wear?’
She said this with a defiant anxiety, prepared for battle if Perdita announced she would merely put on clean jeans for the occasion.
‘There’s a lovely old black dress of Kitty’s,’ said Perdita. ‘I thought I’d wear that.’
‘I know Kitty was keen on recycling,’ said her mother, implying that Kitty was in fact just stingy, ‘but don’t you think that’s taking economy too far? There’s time for us to go into town together and buy something suitable. A nice suit, perhaps. Or a dress and jacket if you want something a little less formal.’
Perdita had known her mother wouldn’t like her choice of clothes, and had prepared her argument. ‘When would I ever wear a suit, or a dress and jacket again? Especially a black one?’
‘It doesn’t have to be black, darling, not these days. I’ll pay for it, if it’s money you’re worrying about.’
Still Perdita shook her head. ‘I couldn’t possibly. I haven’t time, apart from anything else. And I really want to wear this dress of Kitty’s.’ It wasn’t only because she didn’t want to spend a lot of money on something she’d never wear again, but because she wanted to have a bit of Kitty with her at her funeral. ‘Come up and see.’
Her mother swished up the stairs behind Perdita, which reminded her that while she might persuade her mother to let her wear a recycled dress, her tights would have to be perfect, and she might even have to search among Kitty’s things for a slip, not owning one herself.
The dress was on a hanger in a cupboard in one of the rooms she had prepared for guests. ‘There it is. I’ve always liked it, but when I tried to get her to give it to me, she said I could wear it at her funeral if I liked, but otherwise it was too gothic for words. I think it looks rather good on me.’
Her mother sighed. ‘Well, put it on, and let’s have a look.’
‘You wouldn’t be very kind and see if Thomas is up? I’m longing for a cup of tea.’
Mrs Dylan bustled out saying that she would bring one up immediately, why hadn’t she said earlier? While her mother was safely out of the room, Perdita quickly got undressed and put on the dress before she could see, and therefore comment on, the state of her underwear.
Her mother came up with a mug of tea, saw Perdita in the dress and said nothing. The dress was made of some extremely fine material and was lined with satin. It was high-waisted and fell in handkerchief points to just above Perdita’s ankles. It had a boat neck and the sleeves were
fitted until the elbow where they widened out into a trumpet shape.
‘Darling, it is rather wonderful. I wonder when Kitty wore it,’ she said at last.
‘She wouldn’t ever tell me, so I suspect she did something highly improper in it.’ Perdita moved about in front of the mirror. ‘That’s partly why I want to wear it. I want a bit of Kitty’s young and wicked past there, not just the little old lady.’
‘It does look stunning, I must say. But is it suitable for a funeral?’
‘Whyever shouldn’t it be? It’s black, smart and I’m sure it was wildly expensive.’
‘Come downstairs and show your father. I still think a suit would be better.’
Her father was reading the paper. ‘Edward, don’t you think this dress is quite unsuitable for a funeral? I mean, Perdita does look heavenly in it, but don’t you think it’s a bit – well – over the top?’
Edward Dylan looked up. ‘She looks sensational. In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen her look so lovely since her wedding day.’
Perdita smiled. ‘I’m obviously destined to look good only on tragic occasions.’
 
Perdita, hatless and chilly in her unaccustomed clothes, detached herself from the occasion by admiring the flowers. The church flower lady had done two huge arrangements, which seemed to incorporate whole trees and certainly included giant hemlock. They were unrestrained, impressive and just a little bit excessive, but as all the flowers were either wild, or grown in a garden, Kitty would have loved them. None of that mealy-mouthed subtlety for her.
Her own arrangement on the coffin gave Perdita a certain amount of satisfaction. Whatever artistic talent she
might have once had was in those flowers. Even her mother had been impressed. ‘You could always take up floral art if you get bored with vegetables,’ she had said. Her
pièce de résistance
was the miniature cabbages on wires which looked like tiny green roses. Kitty would have said they were too young to die, and it was wasteful to put edible plants into arrangements which weren’t going to get eaten. Well, too bad, Kitty, thought Perdita. If you feel that strongly about it, you shouldn’t have gone and died.
When Lucas got up to speak, Perdita felt overcome with nerves. Not just for him, but because she had let him down dreadfully in the matter of writing what he was to say.
After struggling with the speech for ages, Perdita had finally given up. She just gave Lucas her many failed attempts, as many facts about Kitty’s life as she could remember, and told him a few anecdotes. The rest was up to him.
In spite of such poor material it was a wonderful eulogy. He captured Kitty’s rebellious spirit, her charm, her wit and her great wisdom. Much of it was from his own knowledge of her, Perdita realised, as he told stories which she had never heard.
He managed to recreate the spirit of Kitty, letting everyone know that she had achieved far more in life than just a great age. He even made people laugh, which pleased Perdita. She had wanted people to remember the fit, healthy and alive Kitty, and not think too much about the one who had died. She didn’t think about it herself. She was aware that people were watching her, expecting her to cry. She found her father and Lucas, one on either side, as they walked out of the church to the churchyard. At least if I keel over backwards, I’ll be caught, she thought. Then she spotted Roger, wearing a black arm-band as well as a black tie. Perdita had insisted the other men wore attractive, bright ties, that Kitty would have loved. How like Roger to be conventional, and in this case, wrong.
Still the tears wouldn’t come. She seemed to have lost the mechanism. People will think I’m so hard, she thought. They’ll think I don’t care, that I’m glad she’s dead so I can inherit her money. Perhaps I should borrow Dad’s hanky, and blow my nose. But she couldn’t pretend to cry, either. She did utter a sharp intake of breath when she spotted a wreath of acid yellow chrysanthemums. She peered at the card. It said, ‘For my dear Aunt Kitty, with fond memories, from her loving nephew Roger.’ The resulting shudder had a bracing effect – she knew perfectly well she’d told him Kitty didn’t want wreaths.
Afterwards, at the house, she was a charming hostess. The sitting room, full of more flowers, (Perdita and the church flowers lady had got very matey and carried away), looked magnificent. Food, whisky and champagne did their magic, and soon everyone was talking hard. Perdita spotted Roger looking disapprovingly into his champagne glass, obviously wondering if he was going to have to pay for it. It made Perdita wish she’d asked Lucas to provide oysters and caviar, vintage champagne instead of ordinary, and malt whisky instead of blended. What a wasted opportunity to take her revenge on Roger!
It was lovely to see Beverley and Eileen and Thomas gassing away to each other. They were all staying the night, and Perdita knew she’d have plenty of help with the clearing up.
‘Is Mrs Anson’s solicitor here?’ asked Beverley.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Perdita. ‘He wasn’t a personal friend, or anything.’
Beverley frowned. ‘Oh. It’s just that he called on her while she was ill, I thought he must be. And Roger was asking if he was here.’
Perdita’s heart dipped violently. ‘He called on her while I wasn’t here? Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Oh, sorry.’ Beverley was aghast. ‘I just forgot to mention it. It was the day Ronnie came to cut our hair.’
Panic affected Perdita’s memory. ‘And was Roger staying with us at the time?’
‘Oh, yes. He was with Mrs Anson while the solicitor was there. Did I do something wrong?’
Perdita forced a smile. ‘No, of course not. Now, do eat up, everyone. Lucas has gone to so much trouble with the food.’
She moved away. There was no point in having a fit: what was done was done. Roger had either got Kitty to change her will or he hadn’t. She would find out soon enough. She would have asked Roger then if she could have relied on him giving her an honest answer.
The Ledham-Gold trio spent a long time talking to Perdita’s parents, looking at her so often that Perdita knew she was being talked about. The vicar and the doctor were obviously old friends and, between them, knew almost everyone. Lucas was putting himself out to be pleasant, and accepting a lot of compliments on the food and the television programme with equal grace. Roger smiled blandly at everyone, doing his devoted nephew impression, and Perdita wondered how many people he convinced.

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