The Woman From Paris (16 page)

“Who is she?” Phaedra caught sight of a stout old woman in a navy-blue dress and long cardigan being escorted up the path by Joshua.

“I’ll explain in a minute. Come, I know the escape route now. It’s really very simple, and I’m sure Dr. Heyworth won’t mind my
barging in again.” She hurried off around the back of the church with Phaedra following behind, wondering who could have sent Antoinette into such a panic.

*   *   *

Margaret put her hands on her hips. “Right, you look in the church, I’ll wander around the graveyard, though it’s not a place I’m keen to linger. I might never leave!”

Joshua did as he was told and went to look inside the church. Margaret walked hesitantly over the grass. All those dead people beneath her feet made her feel decidedly anxious. It wouldn’t be long before she joined them, and that was a most unsavory thought. She cast her eyes about the graves, sure that Antoinette and her granddaughter would be among them.

She was distracted a moment by a bunch of bright-yellow daffodils leaning against a makeshift headstone. She paused a moment to read the inscription. Then her cheeks flushed as she realized the grave belonged to her son. A wave of shame washed over her, for she hadn’t even visited it. Not because she didn’t care: she cared with all her heart, but because she was afraid. She hadn’t wanted to see it. She hadn’t wanted to believe that her beloved George was dead and buried. The sight of the loose earth and those final words roughly carved were too much to bear. Better to bury her pain where she couldn’t find it and push on, as she had done when her husband died. Grief was not something to be chewed on like a pining dog with a bone, for it did nothing to bring back the deceased and everything to prolong the agony. But now she crouched down and placed her hand on the earth. It was warm where the sun had kissed it. A ball of fire began to roll up from her belly to her chest, and she inhaled sharply. The feeling was overwhelming, as if her insides were being scorched. She gripped her heart, fearing she was suffering an attack.

“She’s not in the church,” said Joshua, walking up behind her. “Ah, they’ve been here,” he added, noticing the flowers on his father’s grave. “Good of Barry to make a headstone, though it’s a little primitive.” As soon as Margaret heard her grandson’s voice, the ball of fire
was extinguished—gone as if it had never been there. She took a deep, frightened breath and put out her arm. Joshua helped her up, noticing at once that his grandmother had gone very pale. “Are you all right, Grandma?”

She nodded, taking a moment to find her voice. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“You don’t look well.”

“I’m as fit as a fiddle.” She pulled her arm away and smoothed down her dress.

“Do you want to look on the high street?”

“Take me home.”

“To the dower house?”

“No, the main house. I shall wait for them there.” She tried to walk, but her legs felt heavy and numb. “Give me your arm, Joshua. There, that’s better. My legs are a little stiff from crouching down.” She began to step slowly towards the path. Joshua tried to pretend he hadn’t noticed that her movements were labored and her breath staggered. Margaret wondered what would have happened if Joshua hadn’t appeared. Was she having a heart attack? What
was
that burning pain making its way up through her body? But instead of dwelling on it, she switched off her emotions as she had done all her life when things got too painful to endure, and focused instead on getting safely back to the car.

*   *   *

Antoinette closed the gate behind her. “Safe at last!” she said, putting her hand on her chest and feeling her racing heart decelerate to a less alarming rate.

Phaedra looked around the beautiful garden. “What a stunning place!” she exclaimed. “It’s like we’ve just stepped into paradise.”

“It belongs to Dr. Heyworth. The last time I hid from my mother-in-law I stumbled upon it, and upon Dr. Heyworth, who thankfully has a good sense of humor and asked me in for tea.”

“Oh, so that was George’s mother.”

“Frightful woman. She wants to meet you. I’m not sure it’s such a good idea.”

“Is she so awful?”

“Yes, she really is. I think we should avoid her as much as possible. Though she’ll find you in the end. She’s a very persistent woman.”

“She must be devastated to lose her only son.”

“You would think, wouldn’t you? However, she’s so English you’d never know she was in mourning. She’s had a face like a boot for as long as I’ve known her.”

“Oh dear, how sad.”

At that moment Dr. Heyworth appeared at his conservatory door. “Ah, Lady Frampton, what a pleasure to see you at my garden gate.” He grinned at her knowingly. “I’m assuming you’re running away again?”

“Oh dear,” she hissed to Phaedra. “This is becoming something of a habit. He must think I’m mad!” She strode across the lawn. “Well, as it happens, I
am
running away again,” she replied.

“If you’re seeking refuge, why don’t you both come in for a drink?” He turned his eyes on Phaedra.

“This is George’s daughter,” she explained.

Dr. Heyworth raised his eyebrows. “Ah.”

“Hello, I’m Phaedra.” They shook hands.

“Lady Frampton was just telling me about you the other day. I’m so pleased you came down. Come on in. How long do you need?”

Antoinette walked through the door he held open for her. “As long as it takes my mother-in-law to scour the town.”

“A good half hour, then,” he replied with a chuckle. “Good, that gives us a nice amount of time to enjoy a little aperitif.”

10

M
argaret sat in Antoinette’s drawing room, a glass of sherry in her hand, her face as white as death. Rosamunde noticed she was trembling. She didn’t look quite herself. Joshua made conversation so that his grandmother didn’t have to. She hadn’t said a word all the way back in the car.

“They had been to Dad’s grave because Mum’s car was parked outside the church, and they’d put daffodils by Barry’s headstone,” Joshua explained.

“I suspect they’d gone up the high street to do a little window-shopping,” said Rosamunde.

“Do women ever really window-shop?” Joshua asked provocatively, hoping to rouse his grandmother out of her trance. It was unlike her to be so quiet.

“Those who don’t have the money to spend do a lot of window-shopping. I don’t think Antoinette and Phaedra will come away empty-handed, though, do you?” said Rosamunde. She glanced at Margaret and frowned. “George has enabled them to buy whatever they want.” This last comment caused Margaret’s eyes to flicker a moment, and she glanced at Rosamunde. “Are you all right, Margaret? Can we get you anything?”

“I’m cold,” Margaret replied softly. “I’m dreadfully cold.”

Joshua leapt up and put a few more logs on the fire. The flames licked them hungrily, spitting out little sparks. “That’s better,” he said, feeling the heat intensify. “They should be back soon. After all, how much shopping can they do in Fairfield?”

“More than you can imagine, I daresay,” said Rosamunde.

Roberta walked into the room with Amber in her arms. “Did you find them?” she asked.

Joshua shook his head. “No, but they’ll be back for lunch.”

Roberta sensed the tension in the room and glanced at Margaret. She noticed at once that something was wrong. It was very uncharacteristic of Basil to lie so quietly at her feet. “Hi, Margaret. Look, Amber, it’s your great-grandmother.”

“Here, let me take her,” Joshua cut in, pulling a face at his wife to alert her to his grandmother’s odd behavior. She handed over the child and sat down beside him on the sofa.

“It’s a beautiful spring day,” Roberta continued, trying not to stare at Margaret, who was now the color of putty. “Lovely. We should all go for another walk after lunch.”

“Amber’s got very rosy cheeks,” Rosamunde exclaimed. “She certainly benefits from being out in the country air, doesn’t she?”

“Not only her, I feel revived, too.”

Joshua looked at his watch. “It’s nearly lunchtime. They should be back by now.”

Suddenly, Margaret put her head in her hand. “I think I need to go and lie down,” she said feebly. “I’m not well.”

Rosamunde stood up in alarm. Margaret had never been ill the entire time she had known her. “Of course you must, Margaret. You’re just having a turn. A lie-down will make you feel so much better.” Joshua helped his grandmother to her feet. “Which room do you think, Joshua?”

“The blue room,” he replied, expecting Margaret to insist upon another, but she remained quiet and unsteady. They escorted her up the stairs while Roberta remained in the drawing room with Amber and Basil, wondering what had happened while she had been in the kitchen, feeding her daughter.

Once Margaret was settled on the bed, Rosamunde covered her with the quilt and closed the curtains. She noticed how old Margaret looked when her eyes were closed. Her face sagged like a deflated ball left abandoned on a wintry beach. Without a word Rosamunde made for the door. Just as she was about to leave, Margaret spoke.
“Bring Phaedra to me when I wake up. I’m sure I’ll feel better by then.”

“Of course I will, Margaret. Now you get some rest and don’t worry about anything. It’s probably something you ate.” Margaret didn’t reply. She let go and allowed her body to drift into sleep, where there was no pain, just sunny memories of happier times.

As Rosamunde came down the stairs David, Phaedra, and Antoinette were stepping into the hall with Rufus and the Great Danes. They were animated, laughing together as if they had all shared an adventure. “Is she here?” Antoinette hissed to Harris.

“I’m afraid she took a turn, Lady Frampton,” Harris replied solemnly.

Antoinette saw her sister descending the stairs. “Where’s Margaret?”

“She’s lying on the bed in the blue room. She wasn’t feeling well,” Rosamunde replied importantly. “She came back with Joshua, and she wasn’t herself. Her hands were trembling, and her face was deathly pale. I don’t know what happened.”

“Where’s Josh?”

“In the drawing room with Roberta.”

Antoinette hurried past her.

“Looks like you’ve got away with it,” said David to Phaedra.

“I’d
like
to meet George’s mother,” Phaedra replied.

“Trust me, you really wouldn’t.”

Phaedra tapped him playfully. “You’re just being mean. There’s goodness everywhere if you look for it.”

“I’ve looked and found nothing close to goodness.”

“Then maybe a fresh eye will find it.”

“What happened to Margaret?” Antoinette asked Joshua as she perched anxiously on the club fender.

“She was determined to find you,” he explained. “I took her to David’s to play for time. Then she insisted we look at the church. She saw your car on the verge and went to find you. I went inside, but you weren’t there. When I came out, she was crouching by Dad’s grave. She was clutching her heart.”

“Oh, Lord, how dreadful,” Antoinette gasped.

“I helped her up and she insisted she was okay, but she didn’t talk all the way back in the car. She just stared out of the window. Then she sat in here shivering with cold, so I put a few more logs on the fire.”

“Then she asked to go and lie down,” Rosamunde continued, striding into the room. “She’s lying on the bed under the quilt. She really doesn’t look well.”

“Oh dear. What if she’s had a stroke? Do you think we should call Dr. Heyworth?” Antoinette asked. “Phaedra and I escaped through the gate behind the church into his garden. We were having a drink, that’s all. It was mean of us to run away. I feel terrible.”

“I found them sneaking about the town like a pair of fugitives,” David added, wandering in with Phaedra. “At least she won’t have to meet her now.”

“You’re wrong,” Rosamunde exclaimed. “She specifically asked for Phaedra to be brought to her after lunch. I’m sure she’ll feel better by then.”

“So I won’t call the doctor until we see how she is when she wakes up,” said Antoinette.

“The sacrificial lamb,” said David, raising an eyebrow at Phaedra.

“The virgin offering to appease the beast,” said Tom, standing sleepily in the doorway. He frowned. “What’s going on?”

“Tom, darling,” Antoinette gushed. “You’ve missed all the drama.”

“What a shame, I love drama.” Tom swept a hand through his tousled blond hair. “So, Grandma has taken a turn, has she?”

“She’s asleep in the blue room,” said Rosamunde.

“Is she on her way out?” he hissed.

Antoinette flushed. “You can’t say that sort of thing, Tom.”

“She’s just lost her son,” Roberta cut in. “As a mother I can only imagine how devastating that must be.”

“Really, Roberta, she’s barely shed a tear,” David retorted.

“Not on the outside.” She looked at him steadily.

“She’s as tough as an old rhino,” Tom added with a snigger. “She’s never felt a thing.”

Roberta rolled her eyes. “Oh, shallow, heartless boys, you understand nothing.”

“Let’s eat,” said Antoinette, getting up. “Tom, darling, go and check on your grandmother.”

Tom pulled a face. “Why me?”

“I’ll go,” Roberta volunteered, taking her child out of Joshua’s arms. “I should put her down for her sleep.”

“Not before I’ve met her,” said Phaedra, rushing across the room. “Oh, she’s beautiful,” she admired. “May I?”

Roberta flinched. “She’s rather tired. I don’t think she’ll like being picked up by a stranger.”

“Oh, please. She’s delicious.” Phaedra wound her hands around the baby’s body and lifted her out of her mother’s arms. Roberta grimaced, but Amber smiled contentedly. “She looks just like you, Roberta. She’s got your eyes. She’s going to be a real knockout.” Phaedra nuzzled the child affectionately. Roberta saw the tender look on Antoinette’s face, and her heart hardened with irritation. Amber grabbed Phaedra’s hair and tried to pull it, and Phaedra laughed as Roberta gently unwound her little fingers to set it free.

“Well, you’ve won another friend,” said Roberta drily.

“Oh, I do hope so.”

“I’d better take her upstairs before she lets herself down and cries.”

“Small children are meant to cry, aren’t they?”

“Preferably not in public.”