The Boat House (21 page)

‘Madam? Are you all right?’ The door handle was rattled. ‘Mrs Matlowe?’

‘Of course I’m not all right but I shan’t let you know that!’ she whispered. Without a word she blotted the letter and slid it into the top drawer, locked it and pocketed the key. ‘I’m coming!’ she called and made her way to the door.

A few moments later Richard replaced the phone and looked at Donald. ‘That was fairly painful!’ he said. ‘I am definitely not in her favour today. Not that I ever was.’

‘But is she going to speak with you?’

‘She agreed grudgingly to see me at four the day after tomorrow. She sounded wary.’

‘As well she might!’ said Judith. ‘And you said nothing about the reason for the meeting.’

‘I didn’t want to give her time to start consulting solicitors. I’m resigned to the fact that she will refuse to let them visit my parents and will certainly try to prevent any attempt to keep them in America. She even refuses to allow the twins to visit Nan on the grounds that they don’t remember her. I pointed out that
Nan
remembers
them
and she’s longing to see them again.’ He shook his head. ‘She sure is one stubborn old biddy!’

Judith turned to Donald. ‘But Richard is their uncle and his parents are the twins’ grandparents. Can she stop Richard from taking the children to America for a visit?’

‘But their father was English so he would have been the legal guardian, so to speak. Which makes Mrs Matlowe, as next of kin, the new legal guardian. That might give her a prior right to bring them up.’

Donald pursed his lips. ‘Perhaps you should find yourself an English solicitor, Richard, who understands our legal system and ask him to talk to your family solicitor in America. Let them fight it out.’

Richard sighed. ‘I wish we didn’t have to fight over the girls. I admit I don’t like Mrs Matlowe – I can’t get over the way she behaved to my sister – but I do see her point of view. The twins are all she has. She may also feel she has a duty to her son to bring the girls up.’

Judith said, ‘I’m sure Neil would prefer them to be brought up in America. He must realize how narrow-minded his mother is. Their upbringing is very restrictive.’

‘But Neil’s dead and we shall never know.’ Richard rubbed his eyes tiredly. ‘If only she would be more accommodating we could arrange part-time custody. Term time in Nebraska and holidays in England, perhaps, but I’m sure she would never agree. She wouldn’t trust us.’

‘Or the other way round.’ Judith was interrupted by the telephone and the two men remained silent as she dealt with a new client. ‘Certainly, Mr Warner. Mr Watson is with another client at the moment but is free tomorrow at nine thirty. Would that time suit? . . . Yes, I’ll take your telephone number and he will ring you back within the hour for a few initial details . . .’ She wrote down a telephone number, nodding as she did so. ‘Right then. We’ll see you tomorrow – and try not to worry. I’m sure we can be of help. Goodbye.’

Donald looked at her expectantly and she said, ‘Trouble over a will.’

‘As ever!’

Judith said, ‘As I was saying about the joint custody idea – either way the girls would have a wonderful life. Most children would jump at the chance if they understood all that is entailed.’

Richard said, ‘So it’s shopping with Nan tomorrow and I go into battle at four on the fifteenth. Here’s hoping!’

Judith held up both hands. She had crossed fingers on each one.

True to his promise, on the following day, Richard found himself comfortably seated in the ladies’ dress department at Harvey Nichols, keeping an anxious eye on Ivy Busby who sat erect on the chair next to him while a solicitous assistant, by the name of Miss Andersby, discussed her needs.

‘A trip to America!’ she said. ‘Oh! How I envy you, Miss Busby. And on the
Mauretania
!’

Ivy nodded. ‘The weather may be a trifle cool . . .’ she began.

Miss Andersby clapped her hands. ‘So you will need something comfortably warm. Something to keep you snug on a chilly day. I believe the ships sail at some speed so there may be a draught. Let me think.’ She was a small woman, probably in her late twenties, with softly waved mouse-brown hair and brown eyes, the latter magnified by spectacles. ‘What about a lightweight wool? We have a charming skirt and jacket which would suit you perfectly.’ She peered at Ivy’s eyes. ‘Hazel eyes – a very good match would be the soft green, although the lavender would also look well on you.’

Richard looked at Ivy. ‘I think you would look well in the green, Nan, but you could try them both on. I’m sure Miss Andersby would help you with that.’

‘Oh, but of course! That’s my job. And you’ll no doubt need a hat to go with the outfit. I’ll take you down myself to the millinery department and introduce you to Miss Larklin. She’ll look after you. Now then, I’ll fetch the suit in your size and . . .’

‘My size?’ Ivy laughed nervously. ‘I have no idea – unless you have a “skinny” size! There’s not much meat on my bones, Miss Andersby. It will have to be trial and error.’

Miss Andersby’s smile was full of reassurance. She had quickly realized that her client was very advanced in years and was unused to shopping at such a famous store as Harvey Nichols. She might be finding it a trifle daunting. ‘It’s no problem, Miss Busby. I’ll help you into the fitting room and while you take a moment to rest, I’ll pop along and fetch my tape measure. We shall have your measurements in no time. You must not worry at all. Just relax and let me find you what you need.’ She smiled at Richard. ‘Your mother is in good hands.’

He laughed. ‘I’m not the son, Miss Andersby, but you’re close! Miss Busby was once my nanny – and a very good one, too!’

Ivy said, ‘Richard is taking me back to America to spend my remaining years with the family.’

Miss Andersby clasped her hands. ‘Then we must find you the perfect outfit for such a wonderful adventure.’ She held out her hands. ‘Let me help you rise, Miss Busby, and we’ll make our way to the fitting room. I can’t wait to see you in the green wool . . . but having said that, we also have a warm tweed with heather tones. I’ll show you that one also.’

With some trepidation, Ivy allowed herself to be guided towards a curtained alcove. She moved carefully, determined not to stumble or to exhibit any sign of frailty. Nothing must prevent her from going back to America.

While Richard and Ivy were busy in Harvey Nichols, Georgina was attempting to continue her letter. She had laboriously rewritten the page that had been spoiled by the ink splatter and was about to continue when Cook sent Lorna up to tap on the door.

‘Mrs Matlowe, there’s a man asking for you. Cook says will you please come down and speak with . . .’

‘A man? What’s his name?’ Georgina’s heart skipped a beat. Who on earth could this be? ‘Is it the police?’ She almost held her breath. How ironic if her secret had been discovered and she was arrested. The plan was to confess
after
her death.

‘I don’t think so, Madam. He looks just ordinary and he said Mr Croom sent him.’

‘Mr Croom?’ Georgina’s mind raced. Did she know a Mr Croom? The name sounded vaguely familiar. Should she refuse to speak to him? Maybe that would arouse suspicion. If she asked him to call another day, that would simply prolong the agony of not knowing what this was about.

‘What’s his name?’

Lorna screwed up her face in concentration. ‘Cook did tell me but I forgotten. Sorry, Madam.’

‘So you should be, you silly girl! I’ve told you a dozen times or more, always ask for the name. The
name
!’ Lorna stared at the floor. ‘Because it may be someone I don’t want to speak to. I suppose I’ll have to come down but I’m not pleased, Lorna.’

‘I’m sorry, Madam.’

‘I’ll be down in a moment or two,’ Georgina agreed with reluctance. ‘Show him in to the front room, Lorna, and wait with him.’ She hated allowing strangers into the house but was not going to discuss whatever it was on the doorstep. Too many nosy neighbours!

Minutes later she found a middle-aged man standing by the empty hearth. He wore some sort of cape and held a deerstalker hat and, for some reason, reminded Georgina of Scotland.

‘Your name, sir?’ she asked curtly.

‘Edgar Lunn.’ He paused, smiling, then continued. ‘I was given your name and address by—’

‘And your business with me, Mr Lunn? Please be brief. I am very busy.’ Turning, she waved Lorna away.

‘The thing is, Mrs Matlowe, I’ve just bought a very expensive boat from Mr Croom’s boatyard.’ He smiled again. ‘Something I’ve always wanted and an unexpected legacy has suddenly made it possible. They say all things come to those who wait!’ He laughed.

Georgina did not return his smile. She disliked his confident attitude. A little too friendly, she thought.

Unaware of her hostility, he continued. ‘We live about two miles away – we moved here a few months ago – and the land runs down to the river. All we lack . . .’

She was eyeing him intently. A niggling doubt had entered her mind and was taking hold. Was this man genuine or was he another of those wretched private investigators or, worse, a detective using this rather absurd disguise? If the man was an impostor, she must not be taken in by him. But now she also recalled a Mr Croom whose family owned the boatyard her own family had used on various occasions. ‘So you are a friend of Mr Croom.’

‘Hardly a friend, Mrs Matlowe. More a business acquaintance, although I do catch sight of him from time to time on the golf course. A pretty neat putter, although I hate to admit it.’

He sounded genuine, she thought cautiously, preparing to relax her vigilance. ‘And why are you here?’ she demanded.

‘It’s about the boat house,’ he told her.

The boat house! At once alarm bells rang in her brain and she moved quickly to the nearest armchair and sat down in case she was overtaken by the faintness that troubled her recently in times of stress. She indicated that he also might sit and he availed himself of an upright chair.

‘The point is,’ he went on blithely, ‘we are having a boat house built but it takes time and Mr Croom wants us to take delivery of our boat. He wondered, knowing that your boat house is empty, if you might allow me to rent your—’

‘Mr Croom said that? He said our boat house is empty?’ Her voice was a little shrill. ‘How can he say that? He has never seen the inside of our . . .’ She stopped abruptly, aware that her visitor might think she was overreacting. But they were trying to find out about the boat house! She should have known it would happen one day but had been lulled into a false sense of security. Her heart thumped against her ribs and she felt a fine perspiration breaking out on her skin. Her breathing was becoming ragged but she fought to remain in control.

Her visitor suddenly realized that she was in some distress. ‘Are you feeling unwell, Mrs Matlowe?’ He stood up, staring down at her anxiously. ‘Can I call someone?’

‘Please don’t fuss,’ she managed shakily and he sat down again.

‘He suggested,’ he went on, ‘that is, Mr Croom suggested that you might be kind enough to rent out your boat house for . . .’

‘Rent it out!’ The idea immediately terrified her. How could she possibly allow complete strangers the use of the boat house when she could not even risk allowing anyone to enter the place? It was quite out of the question.

‘It would only be for perhaps six weeks,’ he went on, ‘and naturally we would come to some kind of monetary agreement by way of rent. I can assure you I am willing to pay a fair price . . .’

Georgina leaned back against the chair, fighting for breath. Without warning she became aware of a faint pain in her arm.
In her left arm!
She was going to have a heart attack! ‘Oh God!’ she cried. ‘Please go! Please! Whoever you are! I won’t rent out the boat house! I don’t . . . It’s not a good idea. I’m sorry but I want you to go!’ She clutched her arm.

‘Mrs Matlowe! I didn’t intend to . . . Really I just wanted . . .’

She waved her hand weakly, unable to force any words to her lips. Her head swam and she watched through a blur of panic as he finally left the room and let himself out. As the front door closed behind him Cook appeared in the doorway.

‘Madam! Are you all right? What’s happening? I was making you a tray of tea . . .’

‘He was a . . . I don’t know who he was. He might have been . . . he said he wanted to put his boat in our boat house. That’s what he said but I don’t trust him!’ She gulped in more air. The pain in her arm had not grown worse and she clung hopefully to that fact.

Cook said, ‘Did he threaten you or something? Should I call the police?’

‘The police? For heaven’s sake, woman! Just bring me a glass of water and hurry! And my pills, please.’

Cook disappeared, obviously flustered. Georgina tried to take stock of her condition. Was the pain in her arm getting worse? No. Maybe it would go away when she took the pills. There was no pain in her chest although her heart was still racing. She found her handkerchief and wiped the perspiration from her face.
Take care what you say to Cook
, she told herself. She must not alarm Cook or anybody else. But who was that man? That was the problem. Had he deliberately mentioned the boat house to study her reaction? Was he a detective? Surely not after all these years . . . but you could never be sure.

‘This is not a heart attack!’ she whispered. ‘It’s not! It’s . . . it’s just fear. Not even that,’ she amended hastily. She must not allow herself to become
fearful
. It was anxiety and that was dangerous.

When Cook returned she gave her a faint smile. ‘One of my funny turns,’ she told her, sipping the cold water gratefully. She took one of her tablets. ‘Nothing to worry about.’ To Cook she said, ‘You may go now. It’s nothing for you to concern yourself about.’

No, she reassured herself. It had been a false alarm. The pain in her arm was subsiding. She was sure of it. That wretched man! When she felt better she would telephone Mr Croom and ask him if he really had sent the stranger to her home. A suspicious stranger, at that, who asked suspicious questions. How dare Mr Croom put her through such an ordeal? Rent out the boat house indeed! The boat house had been out of bounds for years and would remain so for the foreseeable future.