The Woman From Paris (36 page)

So the flowers weren’t a bouquet from the vicar, after all,
thought Phaedra. “Oh, Margaret, I’m so pleased you feel better,” she said.

The old woman patted Phaedra’s hand. “You showed me the way, my dear.”

“Did I?”

“Oh yes, you were a light showing me the way to God. Reverend Morley has been my teacher and my guide. I can’t imagine how I’ve got to my great age without having known that sense of God. It’s wonderful, and I have you to thank.”

“I really can’t take credit for that.” Phaedra felt inadequate in the light of such high praise.

“You can, my dear, and you must. Now, I have something for you.” She picked up a red velvet box from the sofa table. “George wanted you to have them, and I think you’re wholly deserving. At first I was against it, I’ll be honest with you. They’re Frampton jewels, and I believed that they should remain in the family. But now I know you, I can’t think of a better woman to give them to, even though you’ll marry and send them off down another family line.” Phaedra’s heart began to thump. She took the box with a sinking feeling. “Go on, open it.”

Phaedra lifted the lid. There, sparkling as nothing in her entire experience had ever sparkled, lay the Frampton Sapphires. She gasped. Then she closed the lid quite suddenly. “Margaret, I can’t accept them.”

Margaret’s face fell. “Whyever not?”

“George was impulsive, as you know. He wished me to have them. But I’m sure had he lived he would have changed his mind.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Oh, I do.” She laughed bitterly. “His death has put me in a very awkward position, you have no idea. It would be wrong of me to take them. Your instincts were right. They should remain in the family.”

“But you
are
family!”

“As you said, I’ll marry one day and take them away forever. They’ll never belong to the Framptons again. That isn’t right. Surely, in your heart, you know that isn’t right.”

“It’s what my son wanted.”

“It was a whim, Margaret. Really, I feel very bad . . .”

“I insist.” Margaret patted her hand again. “Sleep on it. You’ll think differently in the morning.”

Phaedra sighed. She didn’t want to offend her hostess. “All right, I’ll sleep on it.”

“Good. Now, let’s go and eat. I’m sure you’re hungry.” Phaedra followed her into the dining room. “And you can tell me what’s going on up at the folly. I’m sure David’s told you, Antoinette is supposedly restoring it. Do you know why? I can’t think what’s got into the woman.”

23

M
argaret placed herself at the head of the table and Phaedra sat on her right. Jenny served dinner, which was asparagus soup to start, followed by rack of lamb, new potatoes, and vegetables fresh from the garden. “So why’s Antoinette restoring the folly? It was perfectly fine just the way it was,” said Margaret as Jenny disappeared into the kitchen.

“I think she’s happy to have a project that takes her out of herself,” Phaedra replied.

“I thought she was doing that in the garden. Barry told me she’d taken him off to the garden center and bought a whole heap of things to plant. Fiddling about in the garden is a very good thing. But the folly, I mean, it’s up a hill for goodness’ sake. What’s the point?”

“Curiosity, perhaps.”

Margaret looked bewildered. “She’s curious about the folly?”

“Oh, I am, too. It’s won me over.”

“Really, why?”

“Because it’s so charming and so neglected. There’s something mysterious about it, and romantic, don’t you think?”

“Well, if she’d only asked, I would have told her. There’s no mystery at all, and believe me, even less romance.”

“Oh, I’m disappointed.”

Margaret lifted her chin. “It was built for me, by my husband.”

“That’s romantic,” Phaedra said brightly.

“The reason for such a grand gesture was not entirely romantic, I’m afraid.” She put down her spoon and hesitated, as if deliberating how best to tell the story. “You see, Arthur had an eye for the
ladies. Or rather, one lady in particular. She was called Leonora and was rather pretty in a common sort of way, although I assure you she was very aristocratic, the daughter of an earl. Well, he had an affair, as many men do. His crime wasn’t dallying with another woman but getting caught. He always used to say the eleventh commandment is ‘Don’t get caught,’ and what did the silly man go and do? Get caught. Ironic, don’t you think?” Phaedra had gone pale. “Oh, don’t be alarmed, my dear. I took it in my stride. I’m stronger than I look.”

“What did you do?”

“I told him in no uncertain terms that I would leave him if he didn’t leave
her
, preferably in the middle of a desert somewhere very far away.” She chuckled. “Of course he gave her up immediately. Men usually do when they have to choose between their lovers and their wives. They go scuttling back like beaten dogs, with their tails between their legs.”

“So he built you the folly by way of an apology?”

Margaret smiled. “Oh, you are a romantic girl, aren’t you? Yes, very silly. He didn’t need to go to all that trouble to get the stones from my birthplace and lug them all the way up to Hampshire. I never cared for the building.”

“But he loved you,” said Phaedra simply.

“In his way.”

“Men are very good at compartmentalizing. He probably loved you both in totally different ways.”

“Perhaps.”

“But his greatest love and loyalty was to you.”

“And he didn’t want the scandal, don’t forget. In those days it was a definite no-no.”

“It’s quite a gesture to build a little house in a place where you can sit and enjoy the sunset. The location is the best on the entire estate, I’ll bet.”

“Yes, it’s a very pretty place.”

“The view is stunning. You can see the lake and the house, and the sky is so big. I’d like to sit up there and watch the sun rise and set. You get them both.”

“Well, I never sit there,” said Margaret briskly. She began to spoon her soup again.

“Did you forgive him in the end?” Phaedra asked.

“I think we just lived through it and came out the other end, a little stronger, a little warier, but never the same. These things change you. You’re too young to know, but I can tell you from my experience, you shed a skin and emerge a little altered. In my case I became an old sourpuss.”

“Oh Margaret, I don’t think so.”

“I did. Oh, I still laughed. Arthur could make me laugh like no one else, and I sort of begrudged him that. I didn’t feel he deserved the reward of my happiness. So I became difficult just to punish him.” She took a sip of wine. “Perhaps I didn’t forgive him, not completely.”

“What would Reverend Morley think of that?”

“Very little. I know it’s not very Christian. Forgiveness is one of Jesus’s most enduring messages. But Arthur is long dead—and I’m still an old sourpuss.”

Phaedra felt her heart swell with compassion. “I don’t think you’re a sourpuss, Margaret.”

Margaret’s eyes twinkled with pleasure. “That’s because I like you. You can tell Antoinette that you’ve solved the mystery. She’ll be very grateful, I’m sure.”

“It says, ‘While I breathe, I love you,’ in Latin.”

Margaret looked surprised. “Do you speak Latin?”

“Dr. Heyworth.”

The old woman raised her eyebrows. “Oh yes, he’s sniffing around Antoinette, isn’t he?”

“I thought he came to see Rosamunde.”

Margaret tutted. “Have you had a good look at Rosamunde lately? No, I thought not. She’s a perfectly nice human being, but she’s not attractive like Antoinette. Dear Dr. Heyworth. I think he’s been in love with her for thirty years. I could have told her that.”

“Antoinette doesn’t know?”

“Of course not. Antoinette’s very unassuming, and besides, she’s still grieving for George.”

“Do you think he’ll declare himself?”

“He won’t if he’s got any sense. Really, it would be very presumptuous. I suspect Rosamunde will return home and Dr. Heyworth will retreat to his surgery and everything will go back to normal.”

They finished the lamb and ate a bowl of strawberries and blackberries from the supermarket for pudding. “Now, I have a job for you.” Margaret changed the subject.

“I’m happy to help.”

“Good. Because I need you. It’s regarding David.”

“Oh?”

“It’s about time he found a nice girl to settle down with.” Margaret was too busy enjoying the strawberries to notice the blush that put the color back into Phaedra’s cheeks. “He’s getting on, and it’s been a very long time since he’s had a girlfriend of any significance.”

“How can I help?”

“You’re his half sister, and you’re jolly pretty. You must have girlfriends like you in London you can introduce him to.”

“He hates London.”

“Then bring them down. I’m sure Antoinette would be happy to fill her spare rooms with your nice chums.”

“I don’t have any girlfriends in London,” Phaedra protested, trying to get out of the obligation. “They’re all in Paris.”

“Surely you can find
one
.”

“He’s very choosy.”

“That’s his mistake. His standards are impossibly high. After all, he doesn’t have a very exciting life, so it’s not like he’s got a great deal to offer a girl.”

“He lives on one of the most beautiful estates in the country.”

“Yes, but how many girls want to live in the middle of a field? They all want to paint the town red. He should lower his standards, find a nice comely girl who’ll be happy to live down here and have lots of children. One day he’ll inherit the big house. I can’t imagine anything worse than moving in as a bachelor; he’ll rattle around in there like a pea in a shoebox. No, he has to find a wife and have a big family, and you, my dear, are going to help him find her.”

Phaedra sighed and lowered her eyes to her empty bowl. “I’ll do my best.”

“Good.” Then Margaret added with a smile, “Such a shame you’re blood, because you’d be perfect.”

After dinner she showed Phaedra to her room. It was cozy, with yellow floral wallpaper, matching curtains, and a high iron bed. There was a jug of water and a glass on her bedside table, along with a copy of the King James Bible. Phaedra wondered whether that was something Margaret had put there since her long chats with the reverend.

“It might get too warm, in which case open the window,” Margaret told her, drawing the curtains.

“It’s fine.”

“I like a warm house. At my age one feels the cold dreadfully.”

“That bed looks very comfortable.”

“It is, so sleep in. Breakfast will be in the conservatory when you’re ready. No rush. If Basil comes in to wake you, ignore him and he’ll soon go away. If you give him the slightest attention, you won’t be rid of him. You can’t say you haven’t been warned.”

“Don’t worry, I love dogs,” Phaedra laughed.

“That’s a very good thing. Good night, dear.”

Phaedra bathed and changed into her pajamas. She turned off the lights and stood a while by the window, gazing out at the stars. She wondered whether David was taking Rufus around the lake and looking at the same stars. Her room looked onto the garden, and sweet scents pervaded the room. She inhaled with pleasure as the familiar hooting of the owl resounded through the darkness. She remembered Boris the barn owl and wondered whether he was screeching outside David’s house.

She missed him. It was pleasant enough in Margaret’s house, and in spite of what David thought of his grandmother, Phaedra liked her a great deal, but she would have preferred to be with him.

She climbed into bed and closed her eyes. She’d happily live in the middle of a field, married to a man who drove a tractor. She rolled over and sighed heavily. How could this situation ever resolve itself? The very thing that would enable her to have him would surely drive
him away forever. She had no choice but to bite her tongue and lock her heart—and she might as well throw away the key, she thought forlornly.

She had loved before and suffered terribly. If she allowed herself to grow to love David with the same intensity, she would only suffer again. She remembered her mother telling her as a child not to stare at the moon or it would drive her mad. But the moon had been so beautiful she couldn’t tear her eyes away. It was like that now with David. She knew she would be driven crazy, but she was unable to resist being with him. In the short term, at least, the pleasure was worth the pain.

She thought of Arthur and his affair with Leonora. Her stomach turned just to think of it. Poor Margaret, suffering as she did and trying so hard to be strong. It was no wonder that the woman had grown bitter. A person simply couldn’t come back after such a cruel betrayal. She squeezed her eyes shut. A teardrop seeped through her lashes. She frowned and wiped it on the pillow. It was better not to think of sad things. She tried to think happy thoughts instead.

The ticking of the large clock on the mantelpiece kept her awake. She hadn’t noticed the noise when she was getting ready for bed, but now, in the silence, it sounded like gunfire. She got up and switched the light on. It was a magnificent antique clock, presumably of great value. She thought a moment, then decided to wrap it in her jumper, place it in her suitcase, then lock the suitcase in the cupboard. She closed the door and listened. The ticking was now muted sufficiently for her to sleep.

The following morning she awoke to the patter of little feet scampering into her bedroom. She knew it was Basil, but instead of heeding Margaret’s warning, she rolled over and looked at him. He wagged his stumpy little tail and barked. There was no point in trying to go back to sleep after that, and besides, she was excited at the prospect of seeing David.

Margaret was in the conservatory, sipping coffee and reading the newspapers, when Phaedra came down. Sunlight streamed in through the glass and turned the room into a furnace. Margaret had
opened the windows to cool it down. “Good morning, my dear,” she said, smiling. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like the dead.”

“Good. Now, what would you like for breakfast? Jenny can make you eggs if you like.”

Phaedra sat down. “Eggs would be lovely. What a treat!”

She had just dipped her spoon into her boiled egg when three familiar faces appeared at the window. Margaret raised an eyebrow but didn’t seem in the least surprised. “Ah, your rescue party. I was wondering when they were going to turn up.”