The Woman From Paris (32 page)

David had always admired his grandmother’s home. He didn’t remember having been born there, nor the first few years of his life before his parents had moved into the big house. But he had happy memories of playing there as a young boy. His grandmother had had a game called the Milkman, with tiny white milk bottles and miniature slabs of butter and cheese. He had disappeared into that world for hours, spreading it out on the carpet behind the sofa in the sitting room. And her house had two staircases, one at the front and one at the back, which made it the perfect place for Cocky Ollie—a game of hide-and-seek that the whole family would play together after Sunday lunch. Sometimes, when his parents had traveled together, he and his brothers had stayed at the dower house and stolen biscuits from the larder to eat beneath their beds in the middle of the night. Once, their grandfather had caught them. Unlike his wife, who was short-tempered and impatient, their grandfather had been a softhearted man with a readiness to laugh. He had tried to be cross, pursing his lips and putting his hands on his hips, but Tom had giggled, and that small act of defiance had set the old man off into hearty guffaws. He had made them clear up the crumbs and promise never to steal again or their grandmother would give them a good tongue-lashing. They were well acquainted with her scolding and were grateful to their grandfather for his protection.

As he pulled up in front of the house David remembered that, in spite of her temper, Margaret had laughed a lot with Arthur. He was the only one who could really make her laugh; without his lightness, life had grown very heavy for his grandmother.

David noticed that his wasn’t the only car parked on the gravel. An old Morris Minor sat in the shade of the yew hedge. David wondered to whom it belonged. He let Rufus out and watched him trot over to the strange car and immediately cock a leg against the front tire. David wandered into the house through the front door.
He didn’t bother to knock, because he never had. His grandmother’s house was as familiar as his own, and she would have found it very strange had he rung the bell.

As he stepped into the hall he heard voices coming from the sitting room. At first the words were a low hum, like a big bee, but as he got nearer he could make out that it was a man’s voice—and that it was talking about love. He stopped at the door, which had been left ajar, and deliberated whether or not to go in. He hadn’t imagined his grandmother would have a suitor. He had rather assumed she’d be too old for that sort of thing—and too irritable. But here she was, in her sitting room, listening to a man speaking about love. His blood froze, and he backed away, suddenly aware that he might be walking into a secret tryst. But as he crept back towards the front door, Basil scampered out of the sitting room, making loud snorting noises. David was left no option but to plunge in and hope he’d be forgiven for interrupting.

Margaret was startled to see him and withdrew her hand from Reverend Morley’s. David was sure that she was blushing. “Hi, Grandma,” he said in his most jovial tone, trying to pretend that he wasn’t shocked by the sight of his grandmother with the vicar. “Hello, Reverend Morley.”

“Hello, David.” Reverend Morley didn’t look at all embarrassed.

“David, what are you doing here?” Margaret demanded.

“I just came to pay you a visit.”

“Nonsense. No one ever comes ‘just to pay me a visit.’” She smiled at the vicar. “They always want something!” she added drily.

“I can come back another time.” He began to back away.

“Now is as good as any,” she insisted.

“I really should be leaving,” Reverend Morley began.

“No, you shouldn’t,” Margaret retorted, putting a hand on his arm to stop his getting up. “Why don’t you sit down, David. Now you’re here, you might as well stay.”

“All right.” He sat in his grandfather’s old armchair and remembered the green bucket of cheddar biscuits that always used to sit on the side table, replenished daily by Moira, their Irish cook.

“You’ve come to speak to me about Phaedra, haven’t you?” asked Margaret.

There was no point in pretending otherwise. “Among other things,” he replied airily.

“She’s staying with
me
this weekend.”

“You don’t think it’ll be more fun for her at Mother’s house?”

“Certainly not! I want to give her her inheritance, for a start, and we have a lot to talk about, she and I.” She turned to the vicar. “She’s a delightful girl.” Reverend Morley nodded, not knowing who they were talking about. “You can’t have her all to yourself, David. You have to share her. Besides, she was perfectly happy when I extended the invitation. I’ve never known anyone leap at an offer like she did.”

David knew there was no point arguing with her. Margaret always got her way. “Well, that’s settled, then.”

“Good.”

There was a long pause. Reverend Morley tried to loosen his dog collar. It was hot in Margaret’s sitting room. “Might I suggest you include some of us for dinner?” David said at last.

Margaret sucked in her cheeks. “If you’re very good, I might have you all over for dinner on Saturday night.” David wondered anxiously about Friday. “I’m asking her in order to get to know her, you see. If I have to fight for her attention with the rest of my family, I’ll never get a look-in.”

“I can’t imagine that’s true,” said Reverend Morley.

“Oh, you’d be surprised, Reverend. We Framptons are a pretty feisty lot.”

A little later David managed to leave with the excuse of having to get back to the farm. He stepped into the sunshine, dazed and a little angry. Rufus and Basil were charging around the garden, falling over each other on the grass. He whistled, and Rufus bounded into the front seat while Basil yapped in annoyance. David was tempted to drive straight to his mother’s to tell her about Margaret and the vicar, but he was more concerned about having failed Phaedra. She was stuck with his grandmother—
their
grandmother—and there was nothing he could do about it. He felt angry that Margaret had stepped
in and asked Phaedra before either he or his mother had had a chance. Couldn’t she see that a weekend with
her
would be torture for poor Phaedra? He couldn’t bear to text her to tell her the bad news. Perhaps his grandmother would see sense by the end of the week.

He telephoned Tom instead, who was so appalled that he called Joshua. Joshua managed to get hold of his mother as she was on the point of returning to the folly after lunch. Antoinette felt as if her own daughter had been snatched from her arms and rushed into the little sitting room to tell Rosamunde. Rosamunde, in turn, was suitably outraged and confided in Dr. Heyworth when he visited at five for Mrs. Gunice’s shortbread and tea.

“The arrogance of the woman to think that a young girl like Phaedra is going to enjoy staying the weekend with an old lady. I mean, it’s preposterous!” She took a sip of Earl Grey.

“Is Lady Frampton very upset?” Dr. Heyworth asked.

“She’s up at the folly, taking her mind off it.”

“Ah, the folly.” He smiled. “It’s a very good thing that she’s bringing that lovely building back to life. I feel it’s symbolic of a new start for her.”

“She’s certainly busy. I haven’t seen anything of her. Really, I should be getting home, but now I’m stuck here on the sofa, unable to go anywhere.”

Dr. Heyworth’s attention was brought back to Rosamunde’s hip. “Is it still giving you pain?”

“Not so much, to be honest. It hurts a little when I walk, though, which I suppose is natural. I’m not as young as I once was. Things take longer to heal at our age, don’t they?”

“I’m afraid they do.”

His eyes were so gentle Rosamunde’s stomach gave a little flutter. She wondered whether he noticed that she wore her hair down. He hadn’t said anything. “I’d like to be helping my sister in the garden. She’s full of enthusiasm all of a sudden. I even heard her playing the piano last night.”

A smile spread across Dr. Heyworth’s face. “She was playing the piano?”

“Yes. She hasn’t played for years. It didn’t sound too good for the first half hour, but then she got it and the piece she played was utterly delightful. Sad, but delightful.” She bit off a piece of shortbread, pleased that William was taking such an interest in what she was saying. “I think she’s slowly realizing that there is life after George. Phaedra has given her a raison d’être, you know. I think she’s the daughter Antoinette never had but longed for—and now Margaret has gone and been underhanded. Really, that woman is the limit!”

“Is there nothing that can be done?”

“I very much doubt it. Margaret is extremely headstrong, as you well know.”

“I think I’ll go and see Lady Frampton after tea, just to make sure that she’s all right.”

“Really? All the way up to the folly?”

“It’s only a short walk. She took me there the other day.”

Rosamunde felt put out. She had rather hoped he would stay for another pot of tea. “I wonder whether I could come with you?”

“Do you feel up to it?”

She sighed, defeated. “Not really.”

“You must rest up, I’m afraid, and let nature get you well.”

“You will come tomorrow, won’t you? I’m so enjoying our teas. Antoinette is going to disappear into her garden, and I’ll have no one to talk to. I’m meant to be looking after her, and here I am, stuck, like a beached whale.”

“Not a whale, Rosamunde, surely,” said Dr. Heyworth politely.

Rosamunde’s heart recovered a little at the sight of the twinkle in his eyes. “Not a whale, then. But I do feel useless. Such a silly thing to fall down the stairs.”

“It could happen to any one of us. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, and I’m sure Lady Frampton enjoys having you here when she comes back in the evening. It’s a big house, and she must feel lonely on her own. Much better that you’re here keeping her company and preventing her from dwelling on her loss.”

“You’re so right, William. So I’m not overstaying my welcome?”

“I’m sure you’re not. Anyway, you must remain here recuperating for the rest of the week, at least.”

“And you’ll come and have tea—perhaps not as a doctor, I can’t pretend there’s much for you to do in that capacity—but as a friend.”

“Agreed.” His smile was broad, and Rosamunde was sure that she had taken their relationship one step further. His visits would no longer be on a professional basis but a social one. She brushed her hair off her shoulder. He still didn’t say anything. Maybe he felt it was too intimate to comment on a lady’s hair. She watched him leave then took the last biscuit. She’d have another pot of tea on her own.

*   *   *

Dr. Heyworth found Antoinette at the folly. She was up a ladder brushing moss off the roof. “Hello there!” she shouted down when she saw him approach.

“Hello, Lady Frampton. I thought I’d come and check on your progress.”

“I was hoping you might. There’s so much to do, I’m a little overwhelmed.”

“Are you on your own?”

“Yes, Barry’s gone back to the garden. I can’t expect him to stay up here all day when there’s so much to do down at the house. I’m perfectly happy up here, you know. It’s so beautiful, I lose myself.”

“I can see why.”

“The boys will help me this weekend.”

“If you ever need a spare pair of hands, I’d be very happy to help.”

Antoinette stopped her work for a moment. “Do you really mean that?”

“Of course. I spend weekends in my garden; I’d be happy to spend a weekend in someone else’s for a change.”

“You’re booked in, then. Wonderful.” Her voice rose in excitement. “We can get going on the inside. I have to take all the furniture out and give the floor and walls a good scrub. Then it needs painting . . .”

“If I may boast, I’m a rather good painter.” He grinned, and Antoinette laughed as he pulled a self-satisfied smile. His playfulness surprised her. He’d always been very formal.

“Well, I need a good painter, Dr. Heyworth.”

He frowned, watching her carefully come down the ladder. What he was about to ask her suddenly didn’t feel right, so he stopped himself. “I even have overalls,” he said instead.

“Very important. You don’t want to get paint over your nice clothes.”

“Exactly.”

“It’s a lovely little place, isn’t it?”

“It’s going to be even more lovely once you’ve finished with it.”

“And what then?”

“Then?” He shrugged. “We’ll have tea in it!”

21

D
avid stepped into his mother’s house at seven to find her in a state of mounting anguish at the prospect of sending Phaedra off to spend the weekend with her mother-in-law. “It’s like sending a virgin in to be devoured by the Minotaur,” she said, pacing up and down the kitchen floor, glass of wine in hand. She was still in her boiler suit and cap, mud caked into her fingernails and smeared across one cheek.

“At least the whole family will be down to whisk her off,” Rosamunde added helpfully.

“Are they all coming?” David asked, brightening.

“It’s a full house,” said Antoinette. “As soon as word got out they all booked in to lend their support. Phaedra’s got a lot of fans in this family. George would be so happy.” She didn’t mention Roberta. She was sure Phaedra would win her over in the end.

“Can’t you all form up to Margaret and just tell her?” Rosamunde suggested.

“She won’t budge,” said David. “I subtly tried to suggest that Phaedra might be happier here with all of us—”

“That was your mistake.” Antoinette swung around. “You mustn’t ever be subtle with Margaret.”

“Too late now, Mum.”

“What are we going to do?”

“We’ll think of something,” said David. “In the meantime I have to break the news to Phaedra.”

“If she wasn’t so polite, I think she’d pull out,” said Antoinette.

“Might I remind you both that Phaedra seemed to like Margaret,” Rosamunde interjected. “I know you all think she’s the Wicked
Witch of the West, but Phaedra, if I remember rightly, thought she was perfectly charming.”

David chuckled cynically. “She won’t by the end of the weekend!”

*   *   *

After having avoided Julius’s calls for a week, Phaedra finally spoke to him. “You’re very hard to get hold of,” he said resentfully. “Why haven’t you returned my calls?”