The Woman From Paris (14 page)

“So I
am
a lady,” she said. “I’m so relieved!”

David showed her into the kitchen. It was immaculate. “Mary came especially,” he explained, feeling like a fraud. “It’s not usually so tidy.”

She ran her eyes over the shiny granite worktops and pretty blue cupboards. “Do you like chocolate cake?”

“What do
you
think?”

“I take that as a yes, then. Let’s make a cake tomorrow. I’m very good at chocolate cake. No one can resist it.”

“I believe you.”

“I’m so excited. Your kitchen is charming.”

“I’ll show you to your room.” Rufus trotted up the stairs ahead of them. “Or rather, Rufus will show you to your room. I hope you will find that equally charming.”

They walked down a narrow corridor. David had to stoop because of the low beams. “Lucky I’m short,” she said with a laugh.

“It’s a miracle I haven’t developed a stoop,” he replied. “Right, I’m at the end, and you’re down here.” She cast her eyes into his room and saw the corner of the bed and a chest of drawers covered in books and magazines in haphazard piles. The place smelled of dog and man.

“Where does Rufus sleep?”

“He should sleep in the kitchen, but in winter he sleeps with me. When it’s too hot, he goes back downstairs.”

“How lovely to have a friend to share your nights with.” Then she laughed because she realized how provocative that sounded.

“It’s okay, you’re my sister,” he replied, laughing with her when inside he wanted to curse the God who made it so.

Her bedroom was very pretty, with a big brass bed, a quilt decorated with red poppies, and matching curtains. “I’d like to take credit for the decoration, but Mother did it all for me.”

She smiled. “I figured.”

“Any excuse for her to decorate, and she’s in like a shot.”

“Because you’re unmarried. If you had a wife, she’d probably leave her to look after you.”

“I wouldn’t say she exactly looks after me. Gone are the days when I used to carry over my dirty-clothes basket. She buzzes around Tom, though. He makes her feel needed. She’ll be buzzing around him all the more now Dad is gone.”

“I’d like to go and visit George’s grave tomorrow,” Phaedra said softly. “I passed the church today, but I didn’t have time to stop.”

“Of course. I’ll take you.”

“Thank you.”

“Barry made a temporary headstone out of wood. The real one won’t be ready for another month. I rather like the one Barry made, but Mum wants him to have one made out of marble. I suppose it’ll last longer.”

“Who’s Barry?”

“The gardener. He loved Dad.” David sighed. “Everyone did. Well, your bathroom is next door. I hope you sleep well. Don’t worry if you hear an odd screeching, that’s just Boris the barn owl.”

“Does he answer to that?”

“You can try. If you hold out a dead mouse, you’ll get an instant reaction.”

Phaedra laughed. “Good night, David, and thank you for having me. You were right: this cottage suits me perfectly. I feel very safe here. The main house is extremely big, isn’t it?”

“Not so big once you’re used to it. I’m pleased you like my house, though. Don’t wake early, but if you do, there’s plenty to eat in the fridge. I didn’t know what you’d like so I bought everything, even pancakes.”

“Pancakes? I shall cook you
fresh
pancakes,” she said with a grin.

“Are all sisters so nice?”

“I wouldn’t know, I grew up alone.”

David put the suitcase on the luggage rack. “Then I’ve just struck lucky.”

She smiled back at him warmly. “And so have I.”

Phaedra lay in bed listening to the sounds of the night. She heard Boris screeching from a tree near the house, and the wind whistling through the branches. In George she had finally found the potential for the security she’d looked for all her life, as if she were a little boat anchored to a big, sturdy rock. She had never expected that rock to disappear. The feeling of drifting again was intolerable. Now she felt as though she had once again found a rock to set her anchor against. She curled up, the weight of the blanket and quilt pleasantly heavy on her body. She felt a frisson of happiness ripple through her being and closed her eyes. The country sounds soon lulled her to sleep.

The following morning different country sounds woke her at nine. Birds clamored in the trees, pigeons cooed on the roof just outside her window, and the distant rumble of a tractor rattling up the farm track reminded her where she was. She lay on her back and enjoyed the sunshine breaking through the gap in the curtains and flooding the end of the bed with light. The day was full of promise.

She found a man’s dressing gown on the back of the door and slipped it over her pajamas. When she appeared in the kitchen, David was already dressed, drinking coffee and reading the Saturday papers. “Good morning,” he said, taking in the sight of her in his old school dressing gown, her tousled hair falling over her shoulders in a pretty mess. “Did you sleep well?”

“Oh yes, Boris was very tuneful.”

“Can I offer you a cup of coffee? I’m afraid my coffee is not quite as sophisticated as yours.”

“Coffee would be lovely. I see you have a
cafetière
; you can’t do much better than that.”

“I hate instant.”

“So do I. Horrible stuff.” She opened the fridge. “Wow, you certainly know how to shop.”

“I told you, I bought everything.”

“What have you had?”

“Nothing yet. I was waiting for you.”

“That’s very gallant. I promised to make you pancakes, remember?”

“That’s an offer I can’t refuse.”

“Okay, so you have flour, eggs, and milk?”

“I do.”

“And an Aga. You know, those are such wonderful things. I learned how to make pancakes from an expert, and she had an Aga. Watch and learn, Mr. Frampton.” Then she put her hand over her mouth and laughed. “Oh, you’re
Lord
Frampton now, aren’t you?”

“I’m afraid I am.”

“Very classy. Right,
milord
, to work.”

While David made coffee, Phaedra whisked up the pancake batter with the bright-red mixer his mother had bought but which David had never used. It was still in its box. Then she squeezed some lemons into a jug and placed it on the table with the sugar pot and a couple of plates, knives, and forks.

David watched her bustle about his kitchen and felt a surge of pleasure. She looked adorable in his old dressing gown, and every now and then he got a glimpse of smooth leg peeping through. Once the mixture was ready, she poured a little straight onto the Aga.

“I do have a pan, you know,” he said.

“I don’t need one.”

“Really? I’ve never seen anyone do that before.”

“That’s the genius of an Aga. Watch how well it cooks. You’ll never buy ready-made pancakes again.”

“I will, because you won’t be here to make them for me.”

“Then I’ll just have to come and stay very often.”

He laughed. “I’d like that.” She used the spatula to scrape the pancake
off the ring and turn it over. It was golden-brown and smelled delicious. David’s stomach ached with hunger. “Bring me your plate.” He did as he was told and Phaedra placed the hot pancake on it for him to sprinkle with lemon and sugar. Then she made one for herself.

“Oh, this
is
good.
Very
good,” David enthused, chewing with his eyes closed to savor the taste. “I don’t think I’m going to let you leave,” he added.

“That’s fine by me. I’ll pay rent with pancakes.”

“I’d say you don’t have to, as you’re family—but I won’t turn down the offer of pancakes.” She sat at the end of the table and began to eat hers. He glanced at the jug of mix. “Are there any more?”

“As many as you can eat.”

“I have a big appetite.”

“I know. You’re a big man. I accounted for that.”

“A cook who can ski—is there anything you can’t do, Phaedra?”

“There’s lots I can’t do. I’m just showing off the things I
can
do.”

“I’m yet to believe it.”

“Let me endear myself further by making you another pancake.”

After breakfast Phaedra took a long, luxurious bath before walking with David and Rufus to the big house. They took a route through the woods, where the sunshine fell onto the track in glimmering puddles of light and the cheerful twittering of birds resounded in the branches of ancient oak and beech trees. A trio of roe deer leapt nimbly over the bracken and blackberry bushes, disappearing into the hazel, and Rufus gamely chased hares and pheasants out of the undergrowth. Phaedra was enchanted and smiled contentedly as she listened to David telling her about the farm and his childhood growing up on such a magnificent estate.

They emerged into the open countryside where fields of growing crops rustled in the breeze and climbed a small hill to where a classically proportioned stone folly stood alone and neglected amidst overgrown shrubs and piles of wind-blown brown leaves. From up there they could see the lake to the left and the chimneys of Fairfield Park, partially obscured by trees.

“Your home is very beautiful,” said Phaedra. “What’s this little
house for? It’s adorable but so forlorn.” She let her gaze wander over the soft honey-colored walls and sensed a gentle tugging somewhere deep inside her, as if the building was whispering to her to step inside.

“It’s called a folly,” David informed her.

“Is it just ornamental?”

“Perhaps, or it was built as a teahouse,” said David. “I don’t really know.”

“A teahouse? All the way up here?”

“Yes, they used to build follies for afternoon tea.”

“Who are
they
?”

“I have no idea.”

“Have you ever asked?”

“No.”

She frowned. “It looks forgotten. But how could anyone forget such a magical little house?”

“We used to play in it as boys, but besides that, no one ever bothers with it. I agree with you, it’s very pretty.”

“It’s
more
than pretty. It’s warm and alluring. Don’t you feel the urge to go inside and curl up on a sofa? Perhaps there’s a fireplace in there? Look, there are chimneys. It must have been very special to someone once, because it’s beautifully designed and built with real care. I mean, the view is spectacular. If it were mine, I’d restore it to its former glory and sit up here to watch the sunsets. It’s very romantic.”

“Perhaps Amber will play in it when she’s a little bigger.”

“Oh, it’s more than a child’s playhouse. That’s a waste: I mean, a child wouldn’t appreciate it. It needs to be loved, David. Shame on you all for leaving it to the mercy of ivy and moss and Lord knows what else.” She sighed and ran a hand over one of the pillars holding up the pediment.

“I’d love to have grown up in a place like this. It’s full of enchantment,” she continued softly.

“Do you think so?”

“You have no idea because you know no different. This is straight out of Enid Blyton and C. S. Lewis.” She grinned. “I bet if you walk inside, you’ll enter a whole different world.”

“What world did you grow up in?” He looked at her quizzically.

“A concrete one. My mother didn’t much like the countryside. She said it was boring. She was very sociable, out all the time, full hair and makeup, always.”

“What did she do?”

“She didn’t do anything. Her father had brought her up to think she was a prize. Women like that don’t work; they find men to do that for them.” She smiled bashfully. “I left home at sixteen and went to work in Whistler. At last I was in the mountains: you know, high peaks and big skies and loads of climbing and skiing. I worked as a rep for a ski company. I loved it so much I stayed three years.”

“Why did you leave?”

“Well, you can’t live your whole life in a place like that. I got restless and wanted to see the world.”

“Is that when you learned to be a photographer?”

“Yes, I had a relationship with a photographer in Rome, and he inspired me. It didn’t work out, but I left with my camera and the knowledge I’d acquired and went back to Canada.”

“How did you end up in Paris?”

“Long story, another time, perhaps.” She turned away. The wind caught a curl and tossed it against her cheek. David sensed she didn’t want to talk about that part of her life.

“Do you mind if I take some photos up here? It’s really magical, David.”

“Did you bring your camera?”

“Only a little one. A photographer is never without a camera.”

“Sure, you snap away.”

“Do you mind if I take you?”

“I’m not photogenic.”

“That’s because you haven’t had your photograph taken by a professional.” She smiled and pulled a small Canon out of her pocket. “Allow me!”

*   *   *

A while later Phaedra reluctantly left the folly and followed David down the hill. At last they approached the steps of the house. “One thing I want to ask you, Phaedra,” he said, stopping on the gravel.

“Sure.”

“When you hung out with Dad and he introduced you to people as a photographer, didn’t they think it a little odd?”

She shrugged. “No one thought it odd in Paris.”

“When you moved to London?

Her face darkened, and she grew suddenly solemn. “It got complicated.” She put her hands in her coat pockets.

“But no one gossiped?”

“Not that I know of. I wasn’t here long enough.”

“That’s quite astonishing.”

“I disagree. If you really want to keep something quiet, you can,” she said with a shrug. “If he hadn’t included me in his will and I hadn’t turned up at the funeral, none of you would ever have known.”

He sensed her discomfort and wanted to put her back at ease. “Speaking for myself, I can say for certain that I’d be the worse off.”

“That’s sweet.” She gave a small smile and David felt happy again.

“Come on, let’s go and find Mother.”

9

A
ntoinette was in the drawing room with Roberta, Joshua, and Rosamunde when they saw David and Phaedra appear in the doorway. Antoinette’s eyes lit up, Joshua’s gray cheeks flushed pink, and Roberta scowled. She swept her eyes over Phaedra’s bright floral dress, apple-green cardigan, black tights, and ankle boots, and thought how inappropriately dressed she was for the countryside. Phaedra noticed her contempt and wished she’d worn jeans instead.